


Colours of Manda'yaim

by MiJo71



Category: AU - Fandom, Din Djarin - Fandom, Mandalorians in general - Fandom, Original characters - Fandom, Paz Vizsla - Fandom, Star Wars, The Mandalorian, own characters - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Blood, Emotional Hurt, Freeform, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, I do not own anything but my own characters, Some Fluff, Violence, cpt 25: just for the sake of getting Paz some hot fluff, cpt 37: story and getting the tension out of Tharam (fluff and smut), cpt. 40: trigger warning for wound and its treatment and smut, death mentioned, some ptsd, triggerwarning for cpt14 fight blood gore can be left out, whump!Dargak, whump!Paz, whump!Tharam, whump!Vayra
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 50
Words: 312,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24452008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiJo71/pseuds/MiJo71
Summary: Mandalorians are not a people, they are a creed.She had had these notions ever since she can remember and the closer she gets the harder they are to ignore. What she doesn't know is that by following her inner guide, her life of solitude is to come to an end, but also her comparatively peaceful life.Please do not be a silent reader, I'd love to have feedbackIt is my first try at story writing (normally I'm more into poems) so please be kind.There are hints of S1 and their paths will intertwine eventually.English is not my first language, probably there are loads of mistakes (grammar, spelling etc), if you find anything I'd be glad to correct them.a way to contact me is also tumblr: gallowsjoker
Relationships: Own Characters - Relationship, Paz and own character
Comments: 279
Kudos: 28





	1. Grey

**Author's Note:**

> poetry and photos (though not Mandalorian related): https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gallowsjoker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes our feeling lead us and we should follow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought it a neat idea (and here my thanks go to all the incredible writers who had this idea before) to have some music going along while reading. As I'm revising what I have written so far I try to add one or the other song to each chapter. Unfortunately I do not have Spotify so it is just links to titles and links to youbtube (as always I do not anything but my own stuff)  
> 1) Celtic Music - Warrior; Filip Lackovic https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I8NfUBUetZw  
> 2) Blind Guardian - Curse my name https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SJch7UW_z88

It was cold, bitter cold. The icy wind was tugging at her dark cloak and it made her shiver. Glimpsing up into the twilight the only thing she could see were clouds. The image of what this moon’s sun must be profoundly hidden.

Nestling with the dark woollen cape at the crook of her neck she got the hood loose. Despite the immediate loss of some warmth around her neck and throat – the black scarf had to be sufficient – she pulled the hood up hiding deep within.

Wrapping the cape around her form she felt better protected from what she had to face: the long walk across the icy field, the harsh winds and whatever was to await her in the cantina.

Though cut off from her surroundings by her clothing the lingering shiver still did not leave her, did not cut her off from the subliminal feeling. For several months she had already felt it. It had pulled her and it had guided her.

She made her way across the ice towards the few buildings. Even if she didn’t exactly know where to go, which building it was, she would know by the intensified notion and the cantina was always a good guess.

And she could actually feel it getting stronger with each step that brought her closer to the cantina. For once she did not hate it to have these strange feelings. This was a new sensation for her, to actually appreciate to be guided in a way.

-*-*-*-

Almost soundlessly the door to the cantina slid open. Host and costumers slightly stirring to the intrusion of the cold gust that came with the newcomer. Some mumbled grouchily.

For the landlord a newcomer meant a new opportunity of business, of credits. But the feeling that he got from the cloaked and hooded figure standing in the doorframe was not a good one. He overcame his instinct, basically all kinds of customers had come to his cantina and so it didn’t matter if this new costumer was humanoid or not.

“Come in, stranger! It’s cold enough outside. No need to have it also cold in here,” he gave what he thought an amiable smile. Actually he didn’t care if the greed for credits could be seen in his eyes or not.

One or the other present figure either nodded or grunted affirmation. But besides that they kept silent, having learnt from the incident just a few days earlier. Although they might have felt a slice of pity for the Mythrol when he got cornered at first. But as soon as the armoured hunter had appeared and cleared the room in a very convincing way everyone’s interest in their beverage, the table in front of them or the blank wall had grown immensely.

-*-*-*- 

The lingering feeling had slightly intensified, yet not enough to trust, follow or identify it wholeheartedly. The landlord’s voice pulled her out of a moment of contemplation in which she inwardly scanned the room.

Turning her hooded head slightly she took in the interior – a dirty backwater cantina as any other – yet. The dim lights did nothing to hide its shabbiness. She felt the bland notion at the entrance. The blood had been washed away, but it was almost like she could still smell it.

Ever so slightly her right hand moved from its position next to her side forward, outward – a quick gesture easily missed. A gesture which was not taught and learnt but which was dictated by her subconscious mind. Only a trained eye might have seen her gloved palm hovering in a delicate arc, her fingers slightly spreading once.

Following this instinct she moved up to the bar, her hand passing along a measured length, hoovering just inches above its surface. She felt the flare of anger and impatience that had sparked here.

Her head turned abruptly, her body followed the move. There – there it was again, the notion. Closer to the middle of the room. Duller this time. Duller than at the bar and much duller than at the entrance, yet it was there.

She moved to the table emanating the pull on her, radiation dully with the notions she was able to pick up. Stilling in front of it, slowly her hood tilted down.

After circling the table she glided into a seat facing the room. Conveniently she had everybody present in her line of sight. Unobserved by the others her palm pressed against the underside of the table. Feelings of confidence, only a bit of impatience and irritation tickled her fingers.

-*-*-*-

“A quiet one. A very strange one. Not unlike…”, the landlord stopped himself from remembering the recent event while he studied the sitting shrouded figure. He hoped that not thinking about the commotion would keep it from getting repeated.

Not that there was much to see of this customer. Just someone cloaked and deeply hooded in a dark fabric. But he had heard and seen it. The thud of heavy-duty boots, a soft jingle of metal and a quick glimpse of it, too. Something silvery and black along calves and thighs as they had walked in. But he did not hear the sound of a tracking fob, that was a good sign so far. He didn’t want another bounty hunter in his bar, they were not good for the business.

He had to categorize the impressions fast while the figure was about to sit. Nobody in this area wanted to be observed too closely. Involuntarily his thoughts trailed back a few days – again. That damn Mandalorian had wreaked havoc on his cantina.

When the hood sharply zoomed in on him he swallowed down a stab of fear and walked over. After all they were a customer, there was still the chance to make some credits.

-*-*-*-

As the landlord moved his body from behind the bar towards her table she leant forward. An unseen smile creeping into her face. An aspired “Good boy” went unheard. Even less audible was the “Saves me to move,” that followed. She wanted information. The kind of information that normally did not come willingly without making her suspicious by asking about it, but he made her task easy by placing his hands on the table.

Before he could address her she quietly formed her question without moving her lips.

-*-*-*- 

“What happened,” a voice whispered in his head. He felt a gloved hand cover his and at the same moment he was overcome by a feeling not unsimilar to having run into a wall. He couldn’t twitch a single muscle and more than unbidden his mind replayed every single moment since the Mandalorian had entered his cantina. He couldn’t help but remember minute by minute, even second by second. In his mind he could see and remember details which had escaped his eyes because of the rashness of the events back then. And it made him cringe.

As his own inner eye saw the bounty hunter leave his business with his prey in tow and the door closing behind them, the tightening sensation slowly left his form.

A rasped and distorted “Thank you for letting me warm up,” had him grumpily growl “Whatever.” He turned briskly as soon as the glove lost contact to his hand. How long had he been standing at the table? Why had he gone over to the table anyway?


	2. Grey is mourning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A target, there is a lot to prepare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I don’t know much about weapons, ships and technical things, despite looking up stuff. I take a writer’s freedom to mix and make up things. Besides being that technically advanced to our standards should make the one or other thing possible. :-)  
> Please bear with my mistakes, I'd be glad if you pointed them out to me.  
> Playlist while writing (among others)  
> 1) Nightwish - Beauty of the beast https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lwerko8X_aU  
> 2) Within Temptation - Our solemn hour https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vSR3ZTbnHS4

What she learnt from the landlord clarified what her feeling had already told her. There was nothing else to gain here so she slid into a standing position startling the landlord with its smoothness. She felt that standing within his comfort zone made him feel awkward. She played with the idea to let him linger in this uneasiness as the man’s features tensed momentarily, but with a curt nod and a hidden grin she turned towards the entrance and left – the room and its warmth.

She had to move on. She was still days behind, at that pace her agitation and curiosity would never find a cure. Cursing inwardly she walked back to the A’den, her shuttle. The wind hadn’t subsided, it tugged at and played with her cloak. What the shuttle had been named for was what she suddenly felt: anger, even rage. But where it had come from was unknown to her. Did she feel incompetent, did she feel mucked around with ? She dismissed both ideas, neither did apply.

Barely able to make out the landing zone for the bigger ships she was glad that she had used her shuttle. Small, unobtrusive, [unsuspicious](https://www.dict.cc/englisch-deutsch/unsuspicious.html) – a simple means to transport goods and people – at least on the outside. With it she hadn’t had to cross the ice fields with its lurking monsters. Nor did she need a means of transport to get to it, it was close enough to walk to it.

The trip to her ship was easy, it was waiting in the orbit on a pre-set course. Docking her shuttle and changing into the larger vessel was just a small feat. Only when she sat in her pilot’s seat again, she felt the tension loosening - home again. The Keldab had been her home, her stronghold even – she realized as she mentally tracked back – for several years now.

All along these years she had been living hand to mouth. Taking on odd jobs here and there, wherever she could pick them up. Menial work on fields or in woods, technical jobs in hangars or ports and the more difficult types, off the usual jobs. Finding things and people was her specialty. With the Empire gone, there was still, if not more work in this field.

The variation of jobs suited her, because she was able to keep moving. With her ship she didn’t need a fixed location she had to come back to. With her ship she was a cog in the machine which wouldn’t be looked for. With her ship she didn’t have to be a part of anything. It gave her the solitude and freedom she needed.

A vagabond, a rover that is what she was. “Nayc yaim” [No home] – unbidden, the words came unbidden in context and language and they sent a stab down her stomach. Shaking the feeling off she grunted angrily, then she straightened in the seat and started concentrating on the navigation system. Her next destination didn’t please her, another cold and snowy planet.

-*-*-*-

Getting to the asset hadn’t be the problem, well not that much. The droid, itself a nuisance, had proven helpful dispatching the guards. The Jawas, they had been another sort of annoyance with their tendency to salvage anything that was not immediately inhabited. Getting into their travelling fortress had been a physical impossibility. The Ugnaught had demonstrated his helpfulness when it had come to the negotiations with the Jawas and in putting together his ship and although he hadn’t wanted to join him, he had left him in something that could even be considered comradeship. Something that hadn’t happen very often to him.

-*-*-*-

Following her routine – routines were good, routines kept her from thinking too much – she made certain that her stronghold, the Keldab was not to be seen, neither off nor on-world, the cloaking system saw to that. This time it was on-world, far away from any living creature. On occasions like this she was glad about all the modifications she had commissioned to her ship.

A lot of credits had been used to alter not only the weapons and their accessibility, shields, the navigation systems, the set of the cabins and even the outer appearance had been altered up to some point. At first glance no one would identify the ship to be a VCX-100, it was unrecognizable.

After having undocked, she started the A’den and navigated her just above the cloud line, steering eastwards until she could make out the huge old wrecks. Thousand years old wrecks, but the constant ice of Hoth had preserved them well. She remembered having read about the old wars, but she had no time for that now. She had a job to complete.

A ridge of hills provided enough cover as well as some landing place at its foot. That is where she sat down the A’den. Far enough away to go undetected, close enough for the speeder placed in the compartment behind the pilot’s seat and next to the shuttle’s door to reach her destination. She had been called a tech-freak and they had been complaining about stumbling about her tech-stuff. _No, don’t think, don’t remember, not now, no time for sentiments_.

Although the thermal check hadn’t provided any information she was sure that this was the place of her search, her feelings had her never stray or err. If not for what she was actually meant to seek then for something she was meant to find. She had been like this for as long as she could remember, earning her the nickname _Sleuth_.

Pushing the button for the hydraulic door to open she was greeted by the planet’s iciness. But there was one good thing about this iciness, it kept her mind from dwelling on things better forgotten. With a flap of her left wrist she uncovered a black vambrace from underneath the cloak. For a brief moment silvery ornaments along the upper and lower rim and around the slightly raised embedments and pads lit up in the sunlight. The intricated patters of interlacing twirls and knots were beautiful to look at. So entrancing that one might forget about the deadliness of the hidden and plain to see devices they encircled.

Adjusting the setting with a few pushs of some buttons she studied the information. Then she mounted the speeder and set her course towards the wrecks, focusing completely on her task. The vehicle’s swiftness granted her some security from the not so friendly fauna of this planet. Much to her surprise she didn’t feel any inclination of making their acquaintance. Although – on second thoughts – a cozy Wampa or Whitefang fur might have been nice and decorative. And it would have altered the looks in the Keldab once more.

Winding her way through fields of snow-covered rocks and debris didn’t make her way shorter, but gave her some coverage. Here, outside in the cold, there might not be a living soul in the vicinity, her scans had told her that much. But what about the insides of the great wrecks, they wouldn’t have been the first ones to house all kinds of creatures on two, four or more legs.

This thought pulled her mind back to a much warmer planet, a planet also wrecked by the past warfare. She didn’t want to think about the strange creatures that had shown up and interfered with their task. _No, don’t think, don’t remember, not now, now there is only time for the task_.

A last ridge separated her from her goal. It was time to get off the speeder and continue on foot. So she got off the vehicle and with swift movements she wrapped the thick fabric comfortably round her form once more. Tight enough to keep the chill at bay and loosely enough to not restrict her motions. With the sun out the hood not only helped to obscure her features but also against the blinding glare which was reflected by the snow.

Although somewhat shaded she squinted her eyes at the brightness. Now, while still in cover it was time to check that her weaponry was functionable. Some things might not take the extreme cold lightly. She took her time to go through her arsenal.

She gave the vibro-knifes in her greaves a testing pull, weren’t stuck. The retracting vamblade in her right vambrace did its job when flicking her wrist correctly. Testing the flamethrowers would not be advisable, she just had to rely on them working properly.

Her hips were hugged by holsters which contained a A-180 blaster and a DE-10 blaster pistol. The antique version of a bluebolt blaster was hidden in an upside holster hugging the small of her back. She made sure they were ready to shoot, to kill.

The long barrelled sniper rifle slung around her shoulder was made easily accessible with a simple swing, its guard was also off. There was no need to see to the other assortment of weapons hidden on her body. She knew they would do their job as they had no technology involved.

She didn’t have to look down, she felt the vibration of the fob. A satisfied smile tug the corners of her mouth upwards. Her inner guide had done its job once again.

The target had to be eliminated her employer had told her. She had told him she would think about whether she wanted the job or not. They both had known she was stalling for time, would gather more information. He had been fine with it, he had known previously that this would be the case, if he wanted her to do the job. This was her way.

She never took a job whose odds she didn’t know about and she didn’t take every job. She was known for that – inside and outside the guild – and thus the numbers of her customers had reduced. But those still in need of her services did not mind her antics. For them it was the result that counted. The result she would produce to one hundred percent.

She didn’t take every job, but this one she was glad to complete. Despite her client being a criminal himself asking her to have taken out one of his opponents, he was the minor malady. Dealing in parts, smuggling alcohol and obviously supporting thus a whole backwater planet made him the good guy.

The greater malady - she was going to take him down. Dealing in living flesh and spice made her writhe with anger.


	3. Grey is loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ship's wreck is huge, but in the end she faces her target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a fight. where there is a fight, there will be blood. Where there is blood, there will be death (not too explicit, but yet proceed carefully if that is a trigger for you)  
> my writing playlist among others:  
> 1) Within Temptation - Endless war https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SLKaqMLct-0  
> 2) ( for the fight) Disturbed - Indestructible https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWxBrI0g1kE  
> 3) Strength of a Thousand Men - Two Steps from Hell https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qwJj2EpC8vg

She just knew that she would have to enter the wreck quite deeply. She would have not lingered too close to the entrance herself. Despite this knowledge she proceed with care: _Layout, check; Dead end: check. Place to hide: check. Good point to retreat: check._

The vibration at her side increased the closer she got and the deeper she explored into the vastness of the wreck. Her steps were quiet. She knew how to step lightly, only a soft metallic jingle now and then gave away her exact position.

She held out her left arm before her to give her access to the data displayed on the vambrace. Some more corners to round, a room to her left, the signals told her. Her breathing stayed even and her heart beat at a steady rhythm.

She went on slowly and stopped next to the entrance of the room where she finally could make out some voices. She had taken into consideration that her target would probably be not alone. The pressing of a set of buttons made a small picture appear on her display. Soft in colours, a layout of the room and three red marks. One of them was to be her target, the others …. .

Her hand reached up and slipped under the hood. She adjusted something beneath, the voices inside the room were now clearer. Her head slightly tilted to the side as she kept very quiet while listening.

Collateral damage or not that was the question she solved by listening to the voices.

“We should have gone already a week ago!” The impatient voice was loud. There was more than mere impatience, there was also a spark of fear in it.

“We have discussed …”, a second voice, more quiet but also filled with more fear broke in just to be interrupted quickly.

“For kriffin’s sake! Shut finally up! We’re all in that!”

Her head bobbed in a quiet chuckle – disagreements, and thus distraction, this would work in her favour. But fear made people also do rash and stupid things. She didn’t like stupid, stupid would get messy and in an environment like this she’d prefer things to go clean. Clean, the way she liked them to go, clean.

If only the alone and on his own positioned one of those red marks would move over to the other two. That would have been a nice clean way. But they weren’t humouring her. So it was to be quick, hopefully clean. It just had to be.

The only question for her was, did she want to know more, or was what she had heard already enough to take out all three. She didn’t like the idea to make more than one trip to bring back her quarry. But the chances were low that two would stand by while she took out the one she was actually paid for. But then, there were other ways too.

Finally the single red mark moved closer. Time for her to make herself known. Using both of her guns was not only a precaution. With obviously three targets, who were on edge, it was a necessity. Still the thumping of her heart was at a steady pace.

Just as one of the men was about to speak again she slipped around the corner, her mouth set in a grim line. The room was a dead end, she knew, so she kept the broken door’s frame to her left side. If need be she could retreat easily, no need for unnecessary exposure.

Two heads tilted up quickly, two bodies tensed, their faces frozen in realisation. The third with his back to her was oblivious. But it didn’t take the third one long to sense his comrades uncomfortable stances. Right then his realisation set in: They had been right. They were no longer alone.

-*-*-*-

He was angry at the two whiny weaklings. They had been safe for most of the time. Even when it slowed their business. But their next coup had to be planned thoroughly. Nothing that could have been done with too much distraction and too many observers around them. Their hideout, though not hospitable, had been sufficient for planning.

Lately they had been disagreeing even over the pettiest things, the cold was getting to them. He knew that he had to move soon, if he didn’t want to miss their firepower and contacts. But then, did he really need them that much?

He had seen it in their faces and in their body language. All of a sudden they were completely frozen. As there had been no noises he guessed that this time it wasn’t any of the animals which had got attracted to their place once in a while. That left only one other possibility: a hunter.

He knew his name was on the list. Others had tried before, but ever since hiding on Hoth he hadn’t been confronted. This planet was either not on their list, or its reputation was enough to keep them off his heels. But it hadn’t worked for this hunter.

If they weren’t going to do anything it was up to be him. He yanked around, his hand gripped his blaster. A smooth, swift motion. One that had always had him come out on the winning side – so far. As his body turned he saw the mouths of the two idiots fall open. A screamed “NO!” reached his ear. And he immediately knew he had made the wrong decision.

The bolts of their blasters came flying at him as he was still turning. He made his gun spit, the slug would dispatch into a rain of devastation when it exploded on impact. A messy thing that kept him on the winning side. At least he would take them down with him. His face distorted into a grimace with his feral grin as he saw the cloaked figure hitting sideways against the door frame with the impact of the dissolved slug. It staggered, then pushed itself erect again. It didn’t fall! Why didn’t it fall?!

He felt the jerk of his body before he realized the smouldering holes high in his chest. Time seemed to slow form him as blaster shots kept raining past him. One or the other were hissing by him – burning hot – as he went down. His breath was sucked from him as he hit the icy ground. A numbness spread in him.

There were no more shots coming from behind him in return. They were down too, he realised. His acquaintances hadn’t survive the precise hail of the two blasters.

His eyes zoomed in on the figure slowly approaching him, in a clarity he couldn’t understand in his given state. A dark cloak sporting a hood, hiding the frame and face completely. Both wrists reflecting the spare light. As the cloak flapped open on the lower half he saw more of these reflections among the dull blackness. Cartridge belts, holsters, …

Steel! They wore armour! Therefore they were still standing! But the steps, carefully even menacingly slow were not smooth, not round. The hunter savoured their left side. One blaster was lowered, the grip on it not that tight anymore. He had hit! “Gotcha..!” he wheezed out.

There was still a chance! Despite a blaster aiming at him he still felt some fight in him. His blaster was still in his hands. Hidden next to the hip facing away from the intruder. He could take them with him.

He had to concentrate. He wanted so badly to concentrate. Agonizingly slow his body seemed to follow the orders his brain screamed. He felt his hand lift his blaster. Both blasters expelled fire. His body rocked under the impacts.

-*-*-*-

When he whipped around she was already firing. _Three to one, take no risks_. The impact of the slug with the angry sound of its shrapnels whizzed around. _The armour will hold_. The ricochets sounded even angrier. Then she felt getting hurled against the door frame and it hurt. She felt the angry bites into her shoulder muscle and bicep, numbing her left arm and that hurt more and kept hurting.

The armour held most off, but not all, not where her body was not protected by the metal. _Keep going_. The first started falling. _Two more. Do let them go into hiding_. Her left side hurt, the recoil of her gun jolted up her arm painfully

They were too slow, unprepared, unlucky. Their chance of hiding behind some stapled boxes too small. The taller one fell forward a third unseeing eye in his forehead. _One more._ The smaller one was staggering backwards, not able to fall as one after the other slug hit him, drilling him backwards until he slumped against the wall. He left a read smear on it as he slid down.

She stopped shooting. No more bolts were answering her guns. Everything had gone quiet. As her ears and eyes were no longer held captive by the action her other senses took over. She smelt and felt it.

It crept down her collarbone and down her shoulder blade. It crept along her arm into its crook. Warm and red but it didn’t slow her, not yet. There was still one to take care of. She turned towards him a soft snarling noise escaped from under the hood.

Almost bemused she felt his resolution, he still wanted to take her out. His shoulder twitched as an announcement before his arm lifted. Her lips tightened in a frown as he brought up both blasters, then she emptied hersinto him until he lay still. Admittedly, he had stilled even a few seconds before.

Three bodies to take back. Only one could be placed on the speeder. Three trips to the shuttle. For a moment she cursed her fate that had dealt her three to the price of one.

Her head tilted back and she groaned out loud at the prospect. Her voice rose more and more until the room shook with the echo of her guttural low pitched scream. She had to let it out and leave it here where no one would care. Part of it was from the pain that slowly settled in as the rush of adrenaline wore down. Part of it came from deeper.

She let the last noise drown out on itself and as the room grew completely silent again she wondered if a holo call would do. But that still meant dragging three heavy bodies outside for the signal to pick up. And with the mess she had caused to at least two of them the smell of blood would attract predators in no time. And there was this warm, sticky sensation to be taken into consideration. She tenderly touched her arm and felt the sticky fabric.

In a place with little prey all advantages at something to feed on were taken by predators. This would put her in their line by the time she had placed the second body outside. If not earlier. She definitely did not appreciate that. There must be a better way.

There was a better way but it was more gruesome. Her shoulders heaved with her deep inhale of resolution. She held her breath for a second to let the twinge in her shoulder go, then she let go of the air after a few seconds, deliberately emptying her lungs.

Her mind was set. Kicking the body in front of her for good measure she walked to the body sprawled over the boxes. It was nothing she hadn’t done before, many years ago, in a time of death and life, in a time of war.

Her left arm ached as she grabbed his hair, straightening his neck. With a twist of her right arm the vamblade shot out, doubling the length of her lower arm. Long, cold, silvery steel, intrinsic patterns running along the double-sided blade. Her hand balled into a fist, the leather of her glove grated as she studied the patterns. A mesmerizing swirling and twirling of the manifold steel speaking of its strength and flexibility. A steel close to nothing could destroy.

Mechanically she started her work. It was gruesome work and it didn’t get easier with the second prone figure. Too lazy to carry she threw the head in the direction of the first body. There was still the last one to go. Passing her first victim she stopped she wrangled his coat from his stiffening body. Placing her harvest of two on it and dragged the cloak along. It would do for the three of them.

She left a trail of blood towards the perforated body of her initial target. She was to add one more before she could set herself to clean the blade. But when finally done with everything, she swiped the blade clean on the coat and let it retract, then she picked up the coat with its ghastly content and left.

Upon surfacing out of the wreck she made sure she was still the only living creature in the vicinity. With a blank mind she fastened the coat to her speeder and set off. The only lift of emotion she could bring herself to was imagining the clients face upon her delivery.


	4. Grey is being without hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunting and catching is one part of the job. The delivery is another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as gory as the last chapter, still proceed with care.
> 
> Writing songlist among others:  
> 1) Within Temptation - The Reckoning https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGH8R5VwI2k  
> 2) Queensryche - Silent Lucidity https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-iIs9mK8VSg  
> 3) After forever - My pledge of allegiance https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjpNT-dLg-g

She still would have to scrape the A’den clean. It had been no problem transporting the wrapped cloak with its content across the icy fields, but the cloak was still soaked and dripping. She looked forward to getting on board of the Keldab. She provided the needed carbonite freezer.

Her adrenaline had run down and she had to concentrate on backtracking her course. Her arm and her shoulder hurt more by the minute. Her med supplies would see to her needs until then she could only set her teeth and work on concentrating. Concentrating on other things than the pain.

The was not that much to concentrate on. There were no obstacles to round, there were no enemies to avoid. So she did an inventory. She scoffed at the choice of things she mentally listed, old injuries. Knowing where it would lead to she started off menacingly slowly with her register. Broken ankle, right, aged three, jumped off a rock, it was too high. Abrasion, right knee and elbow up to the wrist, aged eight, first attempt of riding a Varactyl, of course she had been thrown of, getting her left foot entangled in the stirrup hadn’t been the plan. There, the Keldab came into sight. She let go of a sigh of relief.

When she finally boarded her ship she headed straight to the carbon freezer in the ship’s hull to get rid of the three heads. Like a bag of junk she threw the cloak in and hit the button. Slowly she left that compartment of the ship. Sparing a quick look at her storage she mentally listed her provisions just to keep her mind off from the pain. After all she still had to climb the ladder to get to the med bay compartment opposite the lounge area.

With each rung of the ladder she ticked of items of her mental list until she finally reached the upper floor of the ship. With each step bringing her closer to the med compartment she went through the items she would have to restock.

By the time she finally entered the med area she was breathing heavily. The sweat caused by exertion and pain coated her skin. With a pained grunt she sluggishly sat down and started shedding her layers.

She did no longer do mental lists, she could concentrate now on inflicting as little pain on herself as possible. Peeling back the hood she shed from the cloak and winced. She still felt the cold and having to strip down to get access to the wounds was nothing she was looking forward to. Yet it had to be done. Resolutely she worked on her helmet until the mechanism clicked and hissed. She placed it on the ground between her feet.

She knew she was stalling for time, dreading to look at the damage, when she slowly unclasped the vambrace and pauldron on her left side. Placing them neatly on the stool next to her, she caught herself at stalling again. Tugging at the fabric of the shawl, which was wrapped round her neck and tugged into her flight suit, made a shiver run down her frame. Again she tried to stifle a sound of pain. But who actually for, there was no one else on board.

She knew the cuirass had to go to otherwise she could not get out far enough of the suit to reach her shoulder. It had to go off her whole left side if she wanted to explore the pounding feeling above her elbow. She reached for the clasps and her cold fingers wrestled with them clumsily. Finally she felt them give in. Her grip slipped and it tumbled noisily to the ground, toppling over the helmet which in succession rolled off a few feet. Its T-visor starred at her accusingly and she shighed.

Pulling warily at the fabric she wriggled the suit over her shoulder and down her arm. The dark fabric was even darker where it had started to stick to the seeping wounds. At least the bleeding had stilled for good and even wrestling off the suit hadn’t restarted it. The positive effect of the cold. She was thankful for it.

Cleaning and dressing the injuries were her next steps. Everything felt like it took forever. Every little move hurt increasingly the more she felt the warmth of the ship spread in her body. She pressed the Bacta pad in place on her shoulder. The tear was ragged and nasty. Then her eyes rested on the gash through her upper arm. It would need stitching, both would, but she couldn’t do that right now.

She went for the tape instead and wrapped a bandage tightly around her arm. Scars had never been a problem for her. As long as the gash closed and healed in time. She looked below her elbow at a circular scar tissue: Punctured by a training knife, aged thirteen. She quickly let go of that memory. Right now she didn’t need more pain, even if it were just emotional pain.

Standing up made her lightheaded, she had to steady herself for a moment. Concentrating on one spot her eyes fell on the heap of armour next to her. A lusterless black heap only shining brightly along the rims and edges where the ornaments outlined the form accentuating dents and protrusions.

Feeling slightly safer on her legs she pulled the flight suit up. Before she reached for her cloak she added her helmet back to the heap. It was time to get off of this ice block.

Padding along, her steps softly echoed in the corridor. Tool long it had been void of other noises. Of the noise of other voices. Deprived of their talking, bereaved of their laughter, stripped of any company.

Her lips pressed together, her mouth grew thin, her teeth started grinding. She did not want to think of it. Now was not the time. _But when will ever be the time_ a small voice deep inside asked. She snarled, shook her head _– no more pain –_ and strode on towards the cockpit.

She forced her thought to another direction. Setting course and bringing back the bounty. Well, parts of them. That was to be the next step she had to take, the next way she had to go.

Leaving the planet and getting into hyper drive was no feat. She let herself relax. As her head started to loll forward she pulled herself together and she reached for her vambrace to set a time. She realized she had left it in the med area.

She pushed herself out of the pilots seat savouring her left side and turned to her right. The other place was empty, no one needed to sit there anymore. One of the many modifications made sure that the VCX-100 was single-handedly manageable in all features. She could have acquired an astromech, but the constant beeping and tweeting got on her nerves. _Who am I kidding? Which nerves?_ she chided herself.

As she went back the corridor to get her vambrace her hand trailed along the wall, she could still feel the lingering presences. It calmed her solitude somewhat that she was still able to feel that much of those who had left _–_ _taab'echaaj'la_ – marched far away. On her way back to the cockpit, she fastened her left vambrace around her forearm. The other one was in her hand together with a cloth. Gingerly she sat down again.

With the time set, she felt more tired for the moment. Instead she mechanically started cleaning the retractable blade. Using a cleaning spray she worked deep into the dents and crevices.

The swirling bluish colours of hyperspace showed an unreal picture on the dull black metal. Only the ornaments were able to brighten up sometimes, hypnotising in their pattern. She would give herself a few minutes to check if her eyelids had any holes, just a few minutes.

She computer’s alarm woke her with a start. So much for a few minutes. Having fixed her ship on the course she left the cockpit.

She went to her pile of armour and put it on, piece after piece. Reverently closing claps, buckles and closing mechanisms. Moving her shoulder still hurt considerably, but the Bacta patch was doing its job. Last came her hooded cloak.

She hated Bespin. Everything felt confined and restricted. Crowds were not her thing anymore. Her meeting point was somewhere in the Shadow Market of Cloud City. Her client would send the coordinates as soon as she landed her shuttle.

The population of Bespin was colourful enough for her to draw not too much attention. In a hooded cloak definitely less than in full armour. The data pad on her vambrace blinked, the coordinates had arrived.

Easing herself down the ladder she made sure that a taxi would wait for her, then she reached for the button on the carbon freezer. Stuffing the coat and everything in a proper bag she made sure that the coat wouldn’t lose anything of its precious content.

A nervous Rodian was waiting next to his taxi. When she gave him the location his nervousness impossibly increased but she just had to wave some credits before his snout to get taken to the meeting point.

Her client was already waiting. Taking up most of the space of the booth he sat in, both arms spread wide, resting on the back of the booth. He legs were stretched out, another sign of self-assurance.

When his eyes fell onto her he somewhat straightened in his seat. She knew that was done involuntarily and she savoured in the effect she knew she had on him. She came to a halt right in front of him with a disdainful grin. With a swing she produced the bag from where she had slung it over her right shoulder.

She knew why he looked so victorious, but chuckled when his smug grin disappeared as she placed the bag with a thud right on the table in front of him. He had jumped slightly and her grin had turned feral in a perverted anticipation of what would come next.

She could see the gears in his brain working. This bag was definitely too small to contain a full body. And when his eyes went from the bag in front of him up to her again they narrowed in suspicion.

She knew he couldn’t see much, even if he were able to get a glimpse beneath her deep hood he would be met with more darkness and maybe the hint of a reddish vertical line. The horizontal counterpart would be too hidden beneath the folds of the hood.

Crossing her arms in front of her chest and resting her weight on one leg she just nodded once, quickly shoving her chin forward, gesturing him to open what was his now. The invisible sneer on her face spreading more and more as she registered his reluctancy to comply.

Finally he did.

-*-*-*-

He immediately saw the black cloaked figure. They – he wasn’t able to make up his mind about whether it was a he or she – walked straight up to him. The figure was of medium height. For a man maybe too short and for a woman slightly too tall, he guessed about 5’7’’. With the cloak it was too hard to distinguish the form, whether A or V. Again he was at a loss.

He was pretty sure that he was doing business with a humanoid lifeform, but that the figure communicated more with gestures than their voice was not helpful either. And if a word was spoken it was done with a rough whisper. Not helpful at all.

But all this shouldn’t concern him. His interest was in whether the job had been done. When the figure stopped in front of him he tensed as a bag landed in front of him “What the..! What was that bag? What kind of ….?” He had requested a body not a bag. He had expected them to come with a carbonite box in trail.

He squinted upwards but they stood in an impossible angle. The hood drawn deep as always. Did he catch a red reflection on the middle? He wasn’t sure.

Their posture spoke of self-confidence even a carefreeness. He knew they were waiting for him to explore what was lying in front of him. He would humour them. After all he did get curious about the content.

His fingers reached for the bag, he undid the rope tying it up. Grabbing the ends of the bag he upended it. The bag spilt its content a cloak that untangled and it revealed three severed heads staring blankly at him.

As soon as his brain registered what his eyes saw he felt the bile shooting up his oesophagus. He was barely able to bend forwards before spilling the contents of his stomach on the floor.

The figure took a swift step back to not get hit by the foul liquids. That a quick hiss, a rasping sound of annoyance and a whispered “You didn’t say how.” was all he got for his reaction.

Quickly waving for a droid to take away the mess he threw a bag with credits at the hunter. More than he had actually wanted to pay. He had wanted to haggle, but that was more than he could stomach – literally.

-*-*-*-

She caught the bag with the credits. It felt heavy enough. And if not, the client’s face and reaction was an additional pay she gladly accepted. Turning she left, the taxi with the young Rodian would be waiting as ordered, so she saw no need to linger.


	5. Grey is depletion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is not always good to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my writing songlist (among others)  
> 1) After forever - Yield to temptation https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PODGg2AKYkA  
> 2) Blind Guardian bard's song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n63UbX5kzAc  
> 3) (for Denx) Kamelot - love you to death https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y9BwQGYDLXg

She got into the taxi. By now the driver knew better than to bother her. Soon she was left to her thoughts as the vehicle weaselled through the traffic.

Her mind took her back to happier times. When busy streets had been attractive to her. When people around her meant comfort and company. Company, her comrades, her crew. Well not hers exactly, she had been part of the crew, taken in into an already functioning crew of three. A swift smile crossed her lips as she recalled.

She had been astonished that they would take the risk with someone who had barely finished their training. But she had excelled in every task given to her. In training she had even managed to overpower partners who had been heavier and taller than her. She was quick and full of tricks. Thinking of the sessions made her smile grim. Sessions hadn’t been always fun.

She tried not to remember their names. Twenty years were a long time … Vas, yes Vas and Tiani, his later _riduur_ , they had been the worst. Constant taunting from their side, she had hated them for all the degradation these born Mandalorians had given her. Had they really been anything better than her? She let go of the deep inhale made in rising anger. The voicecoder crackled a bit, but otherwise hid her turmoil.

She had been taken in by a Mandalorian who had become her _buir_. Only later, much later he had told her how he had found her. He had told her how only a small whimper had made him look for the source of the noise among the pile of death. He had told her of the blood soiled cloth wrapped around her form, he had kept it and had shown it to her. She had cried back then. Now she didn’t allow these sentiments anymore.

Her form grew tense as more unbidden memories came up. Why had she cried anyway? It wasn’t like she remembered anything of her first life. Her breathing became steadily deeper, her rage built up. It had hurt back then and it hurt still. You don’t even know what they looked like, she chided herself.

Not he, but Vas and Tiani had told her, ridiculed her, of the shoddy buildings, the backwater society, the inferior infrastructure and the meagre means of defences. They had derided her village, her parents as meat stock, too weak to stand up to anyone. They had mocked her how they were just meant to be slaughtered off.

She hadn’t been old enough to remember. She couldn’t recall which planet she actually came from, what her village or her people, her real family looked like. Nothing remained, not even the whisper of a voice from her first life.

As she pressed out the air from her lung her form shuddered. With her concentrated deep inhale her shoulders rose. She did no longer feel the tug on her left shoulder as she remained completely still while holding her breath. With her eyes closed she started reciting while letting out her breath bit by bit, verse by verse:

 _Ba'jur bal beskar'gam_ – she had received an extensive education and earned her armour.

 _Ara'nov, aliit_ – her whole life consisted of self-defence. She deliberately stopped thinking about family, there was nothing to think about.

 _Mando'a bal Mand'alor_ – her language, her second, no her first language, but who to speak it to and her leader, was there any at all? There had been rumours….. Quickly she let the implication of what it meant if there was actually a Mand’alor, who could summon them, fall

 _An vencuyan mhi._ – she had survived – the first and the second purge of her homes. She could survive more.

All she knew was that she was a Mandalorian, had grown up as one of their own. And still there had been this difference: born or adopted. As she came off age nothing of this remained.

She was Mandalorian. Even the taunts subsided. She had seen to it. Every taunt caused the taunter to pay for it. A broken limb here, a loose tooth there, she was relentless in her payback.

She remembered the day when she had confronted her _buir_ with the taunts. She remembered very well the suddenly frozen statue he had become and how he had hung his head as if in defeat. She had never been able to find out why he actually did react that way and that had hurt too.

Was it shame of her lower origin, was is shame that he hadn’t been the one to reveal these aspects to her. Or did he already anticipate the gulf this would cause between her and her peers, even her new people. What had pained him all those years back? They both had hurt.

But she had hurt him more. She had broken with them as soon as her training was done. Losing a home for the second time. Not that living in the covert, in hiding, had been that much of a home to her anyway. By 16 she became a rover, offering her skills already back then.

“We hired you for your skills.” It had felt so good to be accepted. Jurann Sheg, in her eyes he had been a giant, the obvious leader, somewhat the _buir_ of the Keldab crew, captain, planner, provider. His armour dark blue as the night sky. The orange streaks standing out when the sun shone on them. Back then she had thought it funny, but she had learnt that they indeed did represent his lust for life such as his nickname _Shereshoy_ , or _Sher’ika_ as May called him.

His _riduur_ , Mayh Sheg, petit in comparison to him, her armour repainted to match his colours. She had been lively and for the first time – when there was need – she had someone she could refer to as a motherly or sisterly figure. She made the ship _yaim_ – home.

They had often talked until the early morning hours. She had been encouraged to ask questions, all kinds of questions, even the more spicy ones, concerning…

Well, yes, …concerning among other things Denx, Denx Duanuawr. He had been fiery, spunky, he had had a quick mind and even a quicker tongue. She had to swallow hard.

Remembering Denx hurt. It hurt so much that the stab in her chest hurt more than her shoulder. She started to feel a sting in the corner of her eyes making her vision blurry. She could feel the edge of the cuisses dig into the first digits of her fingers where she grabbed them.

Her memories of him should be good and fond ones. They had taken their time, both of them eager at their late teens and early twenties and aware how soon their bubble of happiness might burst. She regretted nothing – not true, a lie – she regretted having waited until it was too late. _Urcye mhi_.

All her memories of him were good ones. Their mutual appreciation, their good naturedly teasing, their exploring and still chase kissing and the not so chaste ones. All but the last one, when she had put his mangled body on the pyre. His, Jurann’s and Mayh’s. _Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la_.

No matter how hard she grabbed at the cuisses the trembling of her hands wouldn’t subside. He eyes felt on fire by now. The shawl beneath her helmet soaked up the wetness. This hadn’t happened in years. How had she allowed herself to get pulled down so far. What had made this break loose? What was wrong with her feelings. Even on the ship, where almost everything was a reminder despite the alterations, she had been able to shake it off. Since when had something been wrong with her? Well ever since – _dar’yaim_.

She barely noticed the driver asking for his fee. Shakily she handed him the credits and waited for him to leave after she had got out. Then the few dozen steps to her shuttle. Taking each step deliberately with an inhale and an exhale, using any method and training to calm herself down.

Her vision become more focused again, he breathing more naturally. Opening the shuttle with the combination on her vambrace she finally felt ready. Then it hit her.

Just as she was about to enter her shuttle the feeling hit her like a punch to the stomach. It left her breathless. A feeling like a void. An unexplainable sense of panic made her shiver violently. Gasping for air she stumbled inside. The grip it had on her made it almost impossible to close the door of the shuttle.

Shaking and panting, eyes squinted, legs barely able to support her, the storm of desolation, forsakenness and betrayal showered down on her. She felt sick. She felt sickened by the gush flooding her. Her fingers desperately tug at the hood peeling it back, fumbled on the helmet’s mechanism. Air – Breathe!

Dragging herself to the seats she folded them down clumsily, making room for herself to lie down. She was going nowhere in this state. She wanted to curl up on herself but that was not possible. She tried to catch her breath and force down the bad taste which threatened to overwhelm her on another basis by swallowing several times until her mouth ran dry.

-*-*-*-

No attachments. It was just a job. The prize was Beskar. More than he had seen in his whole life. They would all have the Empires signet – it was Beskar! It belonged to them – Mandalorian Beskar! Dealing with the Empire was not a good idea – beskar salvaged in the purge! Bringing two slabs to the covert bearing the signet was no problem, soon enough they had been melted. Bringing a whole camtono - if anyone of the covert was to see the signet he might provoke a storm.

No attachments. He had been … no, keeping his distance and keeping the pod closed as much as possible was the best idea.

No attachments. The pod was on following, there was no need to pull it that roughly. He had been a ….. the slimy client and its weasel of doctor were present again. Along with the troopers. Do not ask, it is against the rules. He did anyway. The client didn’t take it lightly.

No attachments. The Beskar was back – some of it and hell did break loose. Paz, of all it had to be Paz who had followed him to the Armourer! Hut'uun – Coward! Enough of an insult to .... no, the Beskar was worth it! A huge hand under the rim of his helmet! Enough is enough! An answer will be given in form of a vibroblade. His chances were slim. The Armourer intervened. Although his blade was directed at the others unprotected midsection he felt the vibration of the blade near his neck – he wouldn’t have made it.

No attachments. It is quiet in the ship. Initiate the starting sequence, it is too quiet. The ball of the lever. He had been a …. foundling. This was a foundling. Foundlings were the future. He had to get it back. He did. And hell broke loose again.

Dozens of fobs started to beep and blink. Ominous characters followed. He wouldn’t make it, there were too many of them. But he had had to try. Paz, of all it was Paz! They had left the hideout for him, for the foundling! Risking their existence unless they relocated the covert. After all he was still one of them. Paz did enjoy himself – time above, time for target practice. He would make it! He did make it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buir: parent, father, mother   
> riduur: wife, husband, partner  
> yaim: home  
> dar’yaim: no longer home  
> Urcye mhi: We will meet again
> 
> Children’s rhyme to remember the Resol’nare:  
> a'jur, beskar'gam, Education and armor,  
> Ara'nov, aliit, Self-defense, our tribe,  
> Mando'a bal Mand'alor— Our language, our leader—  
> An vencuyan mhi. All help us survive  
> Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la: Not gone, merely marching far away.


	6. Grey is not meant to last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meetings can go so or so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, another cliff hanger. But honestly I have to decide which way it will actually go
> 
> playlist while writing:  
> 1) Danheim - Kala https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c6MczzFi67M  
> 2) Randy Dominguez - Warrior https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QN9SduuzoC4  
> 3) Blind Guardian - Wheel of time https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJtFXTIEwYQ

It felt like hours before the feeling lifted. Before she felt physically and mentally steady enough to reach the pilot’s seat and steer towards her ship. Her emotional steadiness was too vague to be assessed at that time and she didn’t want to try her luck. She needed something to distract her, some job, but there was no call for her services on the holo.

There was only one way to get a job, no matter how simple or underpaid, even an under the table job. Or, at least a time for healing and relaxation in the baths. She set the course. The computer systems would do the work while she used the time in hyperspace to lie down. But neither sleep nor rest would come to her. She decided to try again after some chores.

One of them of course was to see to her wounds, the other to see to her armoury. Going down to her storage she decided on what to eat, prepared her ration and sat in the lounge to eat. She kept her hands busy and her mind on the tasks before her. She went as far as mumbling to herself the steps she did go through. Finally she decided to try again to find some sleep. Stripping herself of the hard parts of her armour she rolled onto her bed.

To have the Keldab was a luxury. Having been occupied originally by four she now had all the cabins to herself. One on each side of the corridor leading up to the cockpit.

One of the first changes had been combining each of the four smaller cabins to two bigger ones making space for larger lockers and comfortable beds. She had kept the surplus cots turning them into loungers. One in each cabin, the other two she kept in the storage.

The kitchen and lounge area, which lay behind the two long ramps ending to airlocks and ladders to storage rooms located in the hull, had been altered too. It was smaller now, giving room for a med bay and fresher cabin.

She let go of a weary sigh and crossed her arms behind her head, just as she usually, but it tore at her shoulder. Lowering her left and placing her hand over her midriff she anchored herself. Her right arm she laid lazily over her forehead blocking the rest of the already dimmed light.

Soon enough she fell into a slumber. Though in retrospective it might not have been such a good idea.

An onlooker might have easily detected her breathing becoming more choppy as she started to turn restlessly in her sleep. Even her furrowed brows, the twitch in the corner of her eyes and the tight set of her lips gave away, a regenerative sleep looks different.

Only gradually she turned calmer. The turning and twitching subsided until at last she lay still with her chest heaving regularly. Due to the alarm she woke up and felt at least partially rested. She didn’t remember tossing and turning in her sleep, she didn’t remember dreaming. There was enough time to prepare herself and for the landing. She would land the ship somewhere of and go in with her shuttle, just as always.

Lava fields, a blackened landscape and a town dug out of volcanic stone. Haggling marketers, suggestive Twi’leks, probing Jawas, an assortment of dubious characters and a buzzing cantina was what she expected to see on Nevarro.

The first applied, the second was missing. There was no loading or unloading of ships, because there were none. The A’den had all the space to herself. A strange silence hovered over the landing field and continued to the main road. The feeling of uneasiness caused by emptiness. This town was supposed to be lively. Not like death had just visited.

She came to a halt under the arch marking the beginning of the town. Her eyes were drawn to a droid-piloted sled. It did not work anymore, the obvious reason were two holes in its dome. Some walls carried scorch marks. A strong notion pulled at her, the same one as back in that icy cantina. The whole road was filled with it.

The latest news were to be gained in the cantina, so she decided to pay it a visit. Without having to weave around in a busy street she crossed the distance much faster. She was glad that due to the emptiness no eyes were drawn to her outward appearance. Despite the whole situation it kept her at peace.

The cantina would surely be livelier. But no sounds leaked out. On entering the world seemed to come to a standstill. The already muffled mood turned completely silent. Weary eyes of the few inhabitants followed her very steps.

She knew that her secretive appearance drew eyes, but like that? Every single lifeform was tense as a coil, ready so spring into action at the drop of a credit. Her eyes roamed about, taking in the different hunters.

A humanoid, who had leaned against the wall near the door, stepped into her way. But it wasn’t the man she was looking for. Raising her head slightly, the man was towering her after all, she inquired quietly, almost softly: “Karga.”

The man eased, stepped back and a nod towards a booth in the back of the cantina directed her. When she reached the booth she simply sat down.

Her outer smoothness hid her rapid thinking. Something had happened here. There were few hunters. Some hunters sported bandages. They didn’t drink to celebrate, they drank to forget. The taste of anger and betray hooved around the whole room and especially heavy it radiated from the man sitting opposite her now. But there was another, an underlying feeling: fear.

-*-*-*-

The dead had been buried. There were quite a few of them. They had been so certain to have him cornered especially after the droid-piloted sled had been taken out. No one could have anticipated that there were more like him. They had appeared out of the nowhere, armed to the teeth and sided with the man on the losing side, with one of their own.

They had raised havoc among the hunters, picking them off from above with their jetpacks. He had retreated immediately, tried to cut off the hunter from his ship. But he had still seen the mountain of man, the heavy infantry, mowing everything in his way down.

Some of those who had survived had left immediately, chasing the still warm track. Others had retreated, licking their wounds. He was ready for some calmer days. But when the cantina had suddenly gone completely still he feared that this wish wouldn’t be granted to him yet.

Before he could get a better look at what or who strode over and sat in his booth he was already confronted with a cloaked figure sitting very still opposite of him.

He was too astonished to do more than press out a “What...?!” He hated himself for how surprised and weak he sounded. But the unaffected gnarled “Job! Any! ”made him think his counterpart hadn’t noticed.

He leant back and tried to sound nonchalant: “Well, you see, we have a guild and if you are not a member…” he was cut off.

“Not that many left, huh?” Did he really just hear something like a chuckle? What did they know? How did they know?

“Ok, there is an off list job, direct contact…” He didn’t get any further, a gloved hand reached out of the cloak, palm facing up and the fingers wriggling twice to get handed something. With a sigh he handed over the chit.

-*-*-*-

She wanted to drop the chit as soon as it hit her hand. It felt like melting iron in her hand. She forced her hand close and got out of the booth. Without looking back she strode for the door. This time no one got into her way. Her heartbeat increased as she left the cantina. With each step closer to the new client she got more and more the feeling that this was not a job she wanted. Yet the notion she had had at the sled increased also. She couldn’t but go and see where the notion led her.

On her knocking there was no reaction at first. But then she saw the light shift behind the spyhole. Somebody was at home after all. When the door finally opened she involuntarily made a step back, her hand was reaching for a blaster beneath the cloak. Troopers! What had she gotten into?

Obviously too stupid to read her reaction the trooper asked for the chit. Opening her hand with her palm up she presented it and was led inside. It was only black leather the trooper was able to see, not the protective slab of metal covering the backside of her hand. They were black too, like her leather gloves, like her armour. Only the symbolised _jaig_ could be made out. But she had it covered. They hadn’t seen it.

She tried to control the trembling of her hands. Beneath her cloak she grabbed her blasters, unseen by the one who led her, unseen by the others who were in the room. This anchored her a bit. Helped her to synchronise her breathing with her step.

She was led to a room with more people – Imps – waiting. The client was as pleasant as K’lor’slug and he radiated a feeling of desperation. Releasing her left she reached out, careful again to just let her glove peek out of the cloak.

The man glanced down and placed a fob into her waiting palm. Then he started to ramble about how priceless and important the asset was, how he had been deceived, how he was willing to double the prize he had handed out in vain.

She was only listening with one ear. This was difficult enough with the high pitched noise that started in her ears and spread throughout her whole body. Had been the chit hard to hold, the fob was close to unbearable.

Pretending to listen attentively and to study the fob she nodded towards the chairs and table set deeper in the room. This was the only way, she had to have all present in her back. Not a nice feeling or a clever choice, but essential for what she intended.

She walked forward towards the table and chairs. With her back to the client as well as all troopers her right quickly started a sequence on her left vambrace, she needed to activate her copying device. She had to be fast as the client quickly followed her and sat on the other side of the table.

Again she played the patient listener while fighting down the impulse to drop everybody dead within this room. This was an idea she could cradle in her mind meanwhile. Making up how she would dispose of the three troopers plus the client, guessing how many more there would be in this complex where she would find and get rid of them. A satisfactory smile played round her lips.

On the outward the client just saw a cloaked figure with their arms crossed in front of their chest, who was listening intently to his descriptions. Had he known about what was inside and reacted accordingly, he would have, well, died instantly.

Lastly she heard him say the words she needed to know – from his mouth, not only from her inner feeling: “The one you are to hunt is ... was a bounty hunter himself. I will double the amount of Beskar I have given to the Mandalorian.”

She whipped up her head, feigning a sudden decision. Unfolding her arms she skipped the fob across the table right into the client’s hands. He looked at her incredulously even more so when she stood up and shook her head. She didn’t want to say anything. She feared he would recognize the modulation of a voicecoder after having already dealt with one of the Creed.

-*-*-*-

The next hunter was presented to him. He was used to all the different appearances but this one was different. Nevertheless, a hunter more increased his chances to get back what he had paid for, what was his. He was desperate and hoped he didn’t sound like it.

But what he saw in front of him gave him an ambiguous sensation. The calm demeanour of this hunter spoke of experience. But they also transpired an unease which only came from those who were against the Empire.

But he had to take his chance to set one more hunter on the track of the bounty hunter. At least they were willing to hear him out. He was sure that the promise of the payment would be intriguing enough. He was certain they stayed for more information as the fob had disappeared under their cloak. He was taken aback when they declined.

Was he wrong in his assumption of experience? Maybe he shouldn’t have revealed that their prey was a Mandalorian. He couldn’t keep them from leaving. He hadn’t gained a new hunter, but he hadn’t lost anything either. They had given back the fob. It would go to the next willing hunter.

-*-*-*-

She wanted to get out, just out. She needed air – calm down and breathe! The only way to get out of this reeking hole quickly enough without giving the image of fleeing was to lengthen her stride. She barely kept herself from growling at the trooper’s slow pace. His contemptuous remark about her incapacity had to be ignored completely. She pressed down the flare of temper that hit her guts. Her hands balling into fists, knuckles turning white. _Just get to the door and leave_ she told herself all the way down the hall.

When the trooper opened the door she shove past him and without turning she left the building, pushing into the street. _Just leave!_ She rounded the next best corner, just to be out of their visual field. _Control your breathing!_ She kept to the side alleys. _There will be another time with better preparation!_ She couldn’t stand anyone near her right now.

Anything might ignite the spark of her temper and set her off. _Breathe!_ The alley was empty, the next one too. But at the next corner she rounded she was almost stopped short. Shoulders bumping into each other. Both bodies slightly turned by the momentum. She barely noticed the person she had run into, besides the sensation it gave her hurting shoulder.

But what she did notice was the clank of metal hitting against metal. Her breath caught in her chest. Pauldron hitting pauldron, armour hitting against armour, Beskar hitting Beskar.

“ _Osi’kyr_!” She froze, the word and a gasp rattled through her voicecoder.

Her reactions were almost mirrored by the Mandalorian. “ _Wayii_!”, a dark but soft voice growled. He was struck by the same surprise.

The green -blue helmet and blue T-visor stumbled another step back. She was not the only one who realized what the sound meant. Her motionless opposite was registering its meaning and their options.

She felt like in a dream and time slowed for her. She was facing the Mandalorian. _No_ , she told herself. One, not the one she had declined to hunt. One, not the one she was meant to seek. Just one Mandalorian in a side alley of Nevarro.

Nevertheless or in spite of it she was left breathless. The thumping of her heart filled her ears, as if that were the only important sound. She felt its rapid beating in her throat. Green, the green! Her eyes seemed just to focus on this shade of green. Her world started spinning. _NO_! _This is not right! _

The green is _not_ right. The T-visor is _not_ right, not red like hers, but blue. The armour is _not_ right. Nothing is right! Denx? _No_. Another warrior, _not_ Denx! She pulled her shoulders up and her head down and shook it violently. Tentatively she drew another impossible inhale, then forced herself to exhale deeply. _Breathe!_ One, not the one she had lost. Just one Mandalorian in a side alley of Nevarro.

They sized up each other still too stunned to react. The V-shape, a man, shoulders wide, hips lean and his cod piece easily identified him as one, stood a few inches taller than her. The lower end of his pauldron had brushed against the top part of hers. A fighter’s body clad partly in Beskar, both shoulders and the chest piece. The rest was made of Dura-alloy.

How did she know although all pieces were covered in the green and blue mixture? She just knew. Just as she knew that there were more than just this one, more had survived. Another covert. But was she ready to meet and interact with other Mandalorians, another clan or even a tribe?

-*-*-*-

This time it was his turn, to surface and to get provisions. He was curious to see how they did fare up there. It was no question, it would be different to the times before. Too much had happened, and too sudden, too. He had been chosen because of his stealth.

But so much more was to do. Ever since they had revealed themselves to help out their _beroya_ they had to prepare the re-location of the covert. The most difficult problem at hand was to get a vessel to take them off-world.

He walked up the curved staircase, before entering the alley and exposing himself he listened carefully, but the space between the houses was empty. Everything was very quiet. It had been that way since the showdown in the main road.

He had played his part and he had enjoyed it. He had enjoyed using the jetpack, displaying his abilities at it and gunnery, he even had showed them off. Like a phoenix rising from its ashes, he had come up behind a group of hunters. He had been the phoenix, he had turned them to ashes.

It had been a long time since he had felt so alive, even more so when some had returned the fire. It had been close to ten years since he had seen real action, a real battle. This came at least close to one.

He had got away with some minor breaches having been the only one to appear from that side, Thus the fire had concentrated on him. But he hadn’t minded, he had been able to do what he had trained for his whole life, it made him feel alive again.

Just as he was about to switch into another alley a floating cloak brushed past him, took him with it and made him turn halfway. The floating cloak was in a hurry. But what made him grow stiff was that beneath the cloak there was no softness like flesh, there was solid metal and the impact had made him grunt.

He could have sworn that he had heard a swear word, a Mando’a swearword. He could have sworn it had been a modulated voice coming from beneath a helmet. His eyes bore into the dark figure without really seeing anything.

But what he could see was the outward reactions which were strange to behold. From the swirl of motion before and at the contact, to complete stillness, to a visible shaking, to a defensive stance, shoulders up, head down, it jerked sideways, once, twice. He wasn’t sure, was it really defensive?

Who and what was this, friend or foe. The Armourer had to know. His brain was working rapidly on what to do next. It wasn’t like they could be standing like this until someone was sent after him or worse for rest of their lives. He had to chuckle at that picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wayii!: Good grief! General exclamation of surprise, good or bad.  
> Osi'kyr!; Strong exclamation of surprise or dismay


	7. Grey is not meant to stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> do not cross someone who is on edge already

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again trigger warning for violence, injury and blood
> 
> songlist while writing:  
> 1) Epicus - MOST BADASS VOCAL BATTLE ACTION EVER/ Otar the foul https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zP_lAuTRRCI  
> 2) Rok Nardin - You can't kill me https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RliCrEqSrqE  
> 3) Nightwish - Tenth man down https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g6VyU0IJm2o

Her head came up in a blink and her breathing increased. Not enough that she had to face another being when she just needed solitude after her encounter with the Imps. Not enough that he had been in her way when she rounded the corner. Not enough that it had to be a Mandalorian when it had been years she had to do without any of them. Her emotions flared. The audacity!

She had heard correctly, she was sure of it, there had been a chuckle. In an instant a blinding rage built up in her. Being laughed at, getting ridiculed, being made fun of, it took her back the very second she had heard it. _You’re not even a real Mandalorian!_ they had said and exploited her weaknesses.

Her brain blanked out. Before she knew it the army knife was in her fist in a reverse grip, the edge pointing out, the talon at the end of the grip pointing towards her foe. With a snarl she dashed forward, narrowing the distance between him and her in a blink.

It didn’t count that he was wearing the armour of her people. It didn’t matter that she had been so distracted by its colouring. This was between her and Vas or her and Tiani, or better between her and both of them.

Her arm flicked out in a swing, the Beskar edge grated along the cuirass and sent sparks off it. The warrior flinched back as if he had anticipated an impending attack and had his knife out only seconds later. He held it defensively in front of him.

“ _Gev_!” She didn’t hear him asking – no, ordering her – to stop. The white noise in her ears was deafening. He said more she didn’t listen to. When she sliced back with the talon their knives hooked. More of his words, more urgent, she dismissed them.

She felt his strength immediately. How long had it been since she had actually fought a trained warrior – years? She realized she couldn’t win in a battle of strength and she growled as she felt him getting the upper hand. All these years past her opponents had not been in her class. But this warrior was a class above her. A shout of annoyance accompanied the loss of her knife.

She knew better than to follow its arch as it flew and came down several feet from her. She had to get rid of his knife which put her to a further disadvantage as long as he had it. She twisted and swirled. Her roundhouse kick had her heel hit his wrist and he let go of the knife with a grunt of pain. This was when his communication stopped.

This was more to her taste. If it didn’t come to blasters, this was her second favourite. Clearly her counterpart knew what was coming as he changed fluidly into his fighting stance. If she hadn’t her left side to consider this could even be fun for her.

Keeping her left covered she started throwing punches and kicks in quick succession, driving the blue T-visor back step by step. She could feel his reluctance, it radiated off him. There was no real fight in him and it started to confuse her. Why did she fight this man after all? What had made her go blind with rage?

In her confusion she got sloppy and forgot her cover. He was a good observer and went in immediately. His hesitancy gone for good. She yelped loudly as heavily gloved fists found their way home, first in the false ribs on her side and then high up on her collar bone. Her opponent immediately danced away as if he regretted having hit her when she sank to a knee.

She had to get him off and away from him. Bent over as she was it was easy to sneak her left under the cloak to find the dagger. It would be a good distraction. She growled as she presented it with a shaking hand. She didn’t even have to pretend there, with the pain surging up and down her left side her hand was anything but steady. She presented herself as prey counting on his reaction and he humoured her.

His step was overconfident when he saw the small weapon in her hand and came at her immediately to free her of it. Grabbing her wrist with the dagger in an iron grip he pulled her towards him, away from the entrance at her back. Predictably she couldn’t hold on to the blade.

She didn’t give him time to enjoy his small victory. Her left clawed into the fabric of his right arm and her right hand moved down. Her fist connected with his thigh, searching for the end of his thigh plate.

When she flicked her wrist he cried out as the vamblad sank into his flesh, crazing his femur. She felt the tremor running through his leg as she made the blade slide back. But she wasn’t done yet, she needed distance.

Her right gripped the top end of his cuirass and again the blade shot out and sank into the exposed area at the collarbone. She could hear his pained shout roaring almost into her ears as his head dipped forward. Almost simultaneously her right foot found leverage against is hip bone.

She exhaled as she let herself fall back. Her right leg taking on the weight of the warrior as she pushed up, her left as a support helped to unbalanced his right leg further, and brought his whole form over her head. The clattering of armour as it hit the stones of a staircase hidden behind the curtain of the entrance and tumbling clattering as the armoured man rattled down was roaring.

That was the distance she needed now, she had to get away. Turning on her good side she needed several tries before she was able to get on her hands and knees. She had to get her knives back. The dagger lay within reach so she weakly fumbled for it. Pushing through her shaking knees she awkwardly pressed herself up and limped over to the army knife. She had to breach herself against the wall to retrieve it. As she straightened up her world darkened in blue and exploded in white. Then everything went black.

-*-*-*-

His chuckle had barely left his throat when he felt the change. He blinked at the sparks her blade erupted on his chest plate. She was overly aggressive and even feral in her attacks but they were pointed, she had had training. Yet, he had the advantage of height and strength. And after the first exchange of punches he noticed something else. She kept her left averted from him. He knew where to attack then.

It hurt him when he heard her cry out in real pain when his fist punched into her side. He felt his guts twist at her anguish. He wanted to end this fast, he had to overpower her finally. He didn’t want to inflict pain and injury but his words trying to reason with her hadn’t had any effect at all. She was deaf and blind to everything.

He had been right, the Mandalorian fighting him had been injured beforehand. That this person was female and a Mandalorian he was sure of. The glimpses he could catch of pearl black armour were beautiful to behold. Her way to fight intriguing and unique. There were not only traditional Mandalorian fighting sequences, it was an effective, functional and even beautiful mix of at least three or four ways of fighting.

When he grabbed the wrist with the tiny dagger she had procured from under her cloak he was sure that his grip on her was safe. He just had to grab the form of her into a circling grip to immobilise her, then he could start reasoning again.

Suddenly he felt the pain in his thigh and it started buckling. Her next move was impossible to stop, too quick her hand had sneaked up to get hold of his chest plate and then he felt the blade again. His scream of pain turned into one of surprise and agitation as he felt himself lifted and thrown over her head.

His world started twirling. When he came down crashing into the staircase he knew there was no way he could stop the descend until the very end of the stairs. In a tangle of arms, legs and armour he rumbled downwards. The air was driven from his lungs with each stair on his way down. Several times his helmet rang with the impact. Where his thigh or shoulder hit the stone they left a crimson stain or smear.

Groaning he came to a rest in the hall. By then he was only dimly aware that some of the covert were about to come closer, drawn in by the clamour. Only one blue streak of armour was at his side at once. A large blue form bent down, hands sought and found where the blood seeped from his body. More pain erupted from his leg and he feebly he pawed at the hand that pressed down on his thigh. His voice was barely audible between his raps and the cracking of the modulator. The blue armour leaned in closer to hear what he had to say. He knew he would blacken out soon, but he was desperate to inform the other: “ Ne’tra verd! K’ulur! Morut'yc kaysh!” He neither heard nor saw the blue mountain bolt upstairs when he lost his fight of staying awake.

-*-*-*-

There was commotion upstairs and everybody in the covert near enough the staircase was alert in a minute. There was a lot going on already as they prepared to relocate, so it didn’t take long for a number of warriors to get closer to the staircase. Paz strode over quickly. As the heavy infantry he was the first line of defence, they had to get past him first.

But what came down stairs in a tangle was one of their own. Easily identified by the colour of his armour – green and blue and sprays of red which didn’t add up to the picture. He had fought along this warrior long and often enough to see that he was in severe trouble.

When Tharam Tern came to lie at his feet a pool of blood was forming beneath him, especially under a puncture in his leg . Paz quickly waved at one of his fellow warriors, they would bring a med pack, and then knelt to weight down on the thigh to reduce the flow of the bleeding.

Paz felt the man writhe in pain under him and took stock of his reactions. The chest plate heaved laboriously, his stomach muscles flappered, the leaking shoulder twitched which sent a tremble down his arm. On his uninjured side the leg was kicking weakly as it looked for support while his fist pounded against the floor.

It took the man several tries to get a weak grip at his hand. Paz understood, he wanted his attention. Something was important enough to keep the man from falling unconscious. He bent down and brought his earpiece closer to where the voice would be loudest from the blue visor. As soon as the warrior beneath him grew lax he was off and up the stairs.

He had the information about a black warrior, he would have to see what to make of it. But he was angry enough to not really heed Tharam’s information. In a few strides he was out and barged into the alley. Looking around he registered the blood stains in front of the entrance to the covert before his gaze was pulled to a swaying figure a short distance off. It was clad in black, the only black figure in the alley.

The dark cloak hung limply as his target bent and got hold of a knife. It took him only a few strides to zero down the distance. As the smaller figure stood again and turned his fists connected several times in quick succession until a heap of dark wool and black armour lay before him. _Aruetii_

He pulled out his knife and started to bend. “ _Udesii_!” the order wasunmistakable. He turned and went towards the covert as a golden helmet blocked the way. With a short nod towards the prone figure at his back she beckoned him. Paz squared his shoulders, what the Armourer wanted was against _his_ will. But her calm voice lectured him: “We should know more before we judge. Bring her down to the covert. She needs treatment.”

Paz tensed and inhaled quickly, but she just finalized her wish with: “This is the way!” He could only answer her likewise. Grumbling beneath his breath he walked back and to pick up the unconscious woman. He shortly wondered how the Armourer had known that this heap was actually a woman.

Taking hold of her shoulders he turned the motionless form around to hoist her into his arms. The movement jostled her head it tilted back and with it the hood. A tiny sliver of skin just beneath her jaw got exposed. Paz stared down at the pale smooth skin to quickly move his eyes to the black helmet with a red T-visor. Despite everything this was too much of an intrusion on the woman’s privacy. Disturbed he quickly readjusted his grip and cradled her so that he could make his way down the narrow and winding stairs. Rising to a stand drew a groan from the bundle in his arms, but he looked straight ahead and followed his _alor_ down to the covert.

The Armourer was waiting for him to direct him where she wanted their guest. The room was to be their provisional med bay. Two cots had hastily been put up, one occupied already by Tharam. As Paz put his burden down on the empty cot he looked over to his _vod_.

A small Mandalorian clad in a dark red armour was about to treat his wounds, they struggled with the green-blue armour. Paz shook his head in mild annoyance. This was not the time to be prudish. He walked over and helped them to get off the pieces of armour which would get into the way.

Undressed and patched up the warrior’s breath softly turned less ragged and evened out, telling sings that the man had finally found sleep.

Paz turned and left the room. It didn’t concern him how the red warrior would work on the black one. Everyone, the Armourer included, should be happy that he hadn’t killed her instantly. The anger prominent in his stride he went back to his quarters and slammed the door shut.

-*-*-*-

A deep black mist pulled at her, confined her to the darkness and made it difficult for her to breath. The dark jungle seemed to call to her, she stepped forward although an inner voice screamed warnings at her. Where were the others. She ducked and started to run as the laser bolts rained down. She thought she could see them running at a distance and tried to reach them.

A flood of cold white crushed down on her. It flooded her lungs and her breath became ragged, she was running too hard, she felt the stitch. But the stitch made something warm run down her side. She came to a halt and looked down at the hand that she had placed on her hurting side. It came away wet and red. Where were the others, off to her left, again she tried to reach them.

A wave of red and orange engulfed her, suffocated her. _Inhale_! There was more red, a river of red, it flowed and it ran. They were there – so many wounds. Where should she start to put the Bacta patches. She panicked, she didn’t have enough, not even for one of the three. Her hands were seeping with red.

A wave of hot yellow fired up. The red T-visor called to her, beckoned her to come closer, to come with him. His hands reached up and slowly lifted the green-blue helm to reveal more flames. She staggered back but the flames engulfed her, she burnt with them.

-*-*-*-

The red helmet turned at the first groans and hitched inhales. The ragged breathing had increased, the number of inhales surpassed the exhales.

She had taken off the armour of the unconscious female warrior who had downed Tharam. Older, not yet healed wounds on shoulder and arm, which had reopened, and a quickly bruising side had been revealed when she pulled down the flight suit, leaving the voluptuously rounded female in her undergarments. After having attended to the wounds she had covered the body in a blanket.

Now this body was thrashing around, its groans had turned to cries. The healer was concerned and tried to wake her from her nightmare. She shook her by the good shoulder – her skin seemed to be on fire. It was to no avail, she was too deep into it.

“Cool her down,” the deep bass of Paz rumbled from the entrance to the room. The healer had already a cloth in her hand and pressed it along her shoulders and neck. Wetting the cloth again she had to catch her arms one by one, before she was able to ran the cloth up and down her arms. It didn’t seem to help, neither the tossing subsided nor her breathing stabilized. The pulse was racing.

“Luubid!” he wasn’t having any more of this. With angry steps he walked into the room until he stood in front of the cot. Too much fuss had already been made over this one. The healer retreated, knowing better than to get into Paz’s way. Without warning he grabbed the bowl with water and slashed it down on the unarmoured woman.

-*-*-*-

The heat was followed by ice and her upper body leapt up. She was awake with a start. Where was she? She stared around and tried to remember. The blue wall was the last thing she had seen and there was this blue wall again. She tried to get a grip on her senses and regretted it immediately – the pain returned.

Panting she glared up beneath her helmet. The blue head dipped slightly, obviously looking from her face downwards. Reluctantly she let her eyes follow. Her jerking up had caused the blanket to fall back. The breast band was the only thing saving her modesty.

Somehow she didn’t wonder at her state of her being almost undressed, but she didn’t have to like the gaze it drew either. Lifting her head she dared him to keep staring at her heaving chest.

Unfathomed the warrior waited until her breaths turned to snarls. With what sounded like an amused huff he finally turned to attend the other person lying quietly on the other cot in the med bay.

Reaching back she slowly eased herself down in a lying position again. Her visor pointing towards the ceiling she allowed herself to close her eyes. She had to do some thinking and even the ceiling provided too much of a distraction for that.

She replayed what she remembered in her mind. The Imps, the warrior and the fight. Her futile attempt at getting away. She had to get away still. Being confined by her state of hurt somewhere underground in a layout unknown to her did not improve her mood.

How long had it been since she had left the tribe? The number twenty came up and it seemed such a long time. Of these twenty years she had been on her own most of the time. And she told herself that these years had been the better ones.

With no more to think about in her current situation she let her mind go and concentrated on listening. The healer had offered her a towel to dry herself off and then she had left. The scratching of wood on floor followed by a quiet creaking told her that the warrior in blue had taken a seat.

Two more sets of modulated breathing besides her own could be heard in the room. One even, the other one strained by angry emotions. Bit by bit, subconsciously hers aligned with the even one. Bit by bit she drifted off into a more restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gev: Stop it! Pack it in!  
> Ne’tra verd! K’ulur! Morut'yc kaysh!”: Black warrior. Be careful. Safe her  
> Alor: leader  
> Udesii: wait, stop  
> Aruetii: traitor  
> Vod: mate, comrade   
> Luubid: enough


	8. Blue is reliability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asking for forgiveness is never easy.  
> Warnings for emotional high tide (hurt and not always comfort) and minor fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songlist while writing / reading:
> 
> 1) Nightwish - While Your Lips Are Still Red https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kmiw4FYTg2U  
> 2) two steps from hell - After the fall https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSH-_ScN6G0  
> 3) Twelve Titans Music - Bound by Purpose https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=72KbtAK4z0k

Inhale – exhale – inhale – exhale. Greyish blue mountains rise in the far distance as she is lying on the lush green moss. Their snowy tips slowly turning pink with the setting of the sun. Inhale – the air is sweet with the fragrance of different flowers. Exhale – the soft wind makes the leaves of the trees whisper. Inhale – their breaths are aligned. Exhale – small strands of her dark copper hair are blown across her cheek by a breeze

She smiles, it is peaceful – there is finally peace. She turns her head to look at him and sees his impish grin, the dimples in his cheek deepening as he starts to laugh one of her favourite ones.

He is laughing, it was one of his jokes, she doesn’t know which, she doesn’t have to. His laugh is addictive and liberating. She joins in just to see his dark blue eyes sparkle. When she reaches over to ruffle his short ebony hair his eyes lighten up at her.

Their legs entangled, their arms entwining the other they roll down the soft hill. Their shrieks of laughter is the only sound, in their folly the birds and small animals had gone quiet. Cavansite blue eyes twinkle as they both go quiet. They roam searchingly over her face and come to a rest in her green eyes.

His finger touch her cheeks, soft like the breeze, as she hears his voice purr: “Mmm…mesh'la. Green like a forest in summer. Today is a good day, I should be safe today.” His dimples deepen again as he leans in, his soft lips ghosting on hers. She knows he likes to hear her say his name and she likes to mumble it against his skin. She smiles softly as she breaths against his lips: “Denx” – “Hmmm?” he answers lazily “ Denx, I love you Denx Duanuawr.” – “Hmmmm!” he softly moans and just slightly lifts his head to look into her eyes. “And I love you… hmmmm!”

He moans softly – in pain……Her brain sets in. _Why should he be in pain_? _Whose voice_.. ? Slowly she came to and opened her eyes. There was no blue sky above her but a dull brownish ceiling which was hard to make out in the semi darkness. There was no soft fresh breeze but damp stall air. She was underground.

She quietly twisted her head around. In the dim light she could make out the man lying in the cot. His breathing was mostly regular and deep only once in a while a moan escaped from under the helmet – he was asleep and no one else was to be seen or heard.

It took her some tries until she was in a sitting position and able to swing her legs off the cot. Now she had the time to examine herself. Both her old injuries had been patched and wrapped and there was another bandage round her lower ribcage. She tested a deep inhale and her tolerance for the pain it inflicted. Another soft moan made her look towards the man again. He started to become more restless.

Quietly she got off her cot not minding the blanket. She padded over to the other cot, noiselessly in just her bandages, undergarment and socks. In his sleep he had bent his bandaged leg so it peeked out from under the blanket he was wrapped in. She lifted the blanket slightly, eyed the damage she had caused and let the blanket settle in place again. The muscle of his leg twitched slightly.

Moving closer her fingers softly tugged down the upper corner of the cover and exposed his collarbone. It was wrapped in a similar way to hers. Reaching down her fingers trailed along the golden skin of his shoulder. Golden just like the skin she knew in the past. Although the muscles she touched twitched again against the brush of her fingers, her touch seemed to appease the common restlessness.

Without breaking the touch she moved. There was still the stool set next to the headpiece of the cot. With a soft hiss she manoeuvred herself onto it. Resting her elbows on her knees she let the chin part of her helmet rest in her palm.

Her sigh was deep and the twinge in her side made her shift weight on the creaking stool. Closing her eyes she wondered how she could prepare for the coming day. She didn’t know anything of this tribe. Those members she had met should not stand as an example for the rest of them. But then….

With a deep sigh she realized her part in the unfortunate encounter. If it hadn’t been for her initial attack things wouldn’t have got out of hand. Honour dictated what she had to do. And although she knew doing it now wouldn’t mean anything and that it would have to be repeated to eyes seeing and ears hearing her, this was the best practice she could get and one which she needed desperately.

She had to take some deep breaths. Even in this quietness and solitude she found it hard to find the right words: “I..I w-want… ,“in her ears her voice sounded hoarse, so she cleared her throat before she started again: “ _N'eparavu takisit_.”

She felt this was not enough. More explaining would be needed. Her voice was a low murmur which seemed to soothe her sleeping listener: “I.. It’s complicated. … There were.. .. After I … The circumstances were most unfortunate. … You know, there is this … this feeling which kind of l-leads me, it’s always been …t-there, ever since I … ever since I can remember. I had it here … again, up there.. up on the main road.”

She had to break, to gather more breath and more courage: “When I went to the cantina… I know about the guild.. I needed a job.. the credits. But.. when they opened the d-door. It was I-Imps… Kriffin’ Imps….. I t-though it was over… after S-Scarif … after Yavin. … I’d never see any ... again ... not after ... after all were gone.”

Shivers were running down her body and it was not only because of the coldness creeping in. The hot wetness running down her cheeks cooled off as the salty pearls ran down and dropped quietly on her thigh and the floor: “We knew the … risks. But it is something … else to really lose your … fam ... It was too much … Everything’s too much.”

She was trailing off and sat in silence for some minutes. Only quiet shivers running along her form as her chest heaved with inaudible sobs. Lifting her head finally she gave the greatest and deepest apology she could think of: “ _Ni ceta_. I take the blame, guilt and punishme…..”

-*-*-*-

He lay very still, painstakingly controlling his breath to not give away his state of consciousness. The sensation of her cold fingers on his arm had roused him. Her voice had pulled him out his sleep and it entranced him. He hadn’t seen the dark hulking figure moving into the periphery of his eyes which then became part of the darkness to watch the scene unfolding.

He listened to the calming sound of her hushed try of an explanation and her excuses. Her voice was calm and so full of emotions. It soothed him, lulled him and had him wide awake at the same time. He understood the unspoken, the abandoned words. Her past was intriguing, haunting. It was something he wanted to know more about, to understand better. He apprehended the gravity and sincerity of her words and emotions.

There was so much more to her he wanted to get to know. When her voice subsided he watched her even more closely. The way she sat, the way her hand curled at the rim of her helmet, the way her bust heaved and the way her breath hitched, the way her tears fell. She was cr…..

His reflections of her were interrupted when Paz shove himself into the room. “Not done enough damage yet?” the bass hissed inimically. “Get away from him or you’ll regret it.”

-*-*-*-

The bass she remembered belonged to the blue wall. Slowly she propped herself up and turned her head to face him. Deliberately she tilted her helmet in an almost comical way. It incited him immediately and he rushed over to tower in her personal space. Her arm was swatted away from where it connected with Tharam’s skin and she was roughly pulled to a stand by her shoulders and then shoved back to her cot. There the huge hands pressed her down and the broad frame retreated a step from her again. “In the morning the _alor_ wants to see you. Rest until then,” he didn’t sound any friendlier. And as if to remind her of her place Paz took place on the stool she just had sat on.

She watched him for a minute before she lay down. Closing her eyes she wondered how long he had been standing in the room and how much he had heard. It would make some things easier she realized. _The alor wants to see you_. It didn’t sit well with her to encounter more when she didn’t even know how to deal with one.

How could she possibly prepare for the meeting with the covert’s _alor_ and repeat in a coherent way what she had struggled and failed to do with someone who was not able to listen attentively. She wouldn’t be able to explain what had to be said in a few sentences.

She pressed the back of her head against the small pillow and let out a pained groan. _This is no use_. _They won’t accept it anyway_. She felt raw and weak and all of a sudden she didn’t feel that well anymore.

Her world started swirling as a gush of hot tears found their way into her hair. A barely audible “ _Jate. Vor entye_ , “ stopped her, stiffened her whole being.

She turned her visor to fully watch the sentry: “And I do mean it _literally_ ,” he rumbled on. Her breaths became shallow as she grasped that he must have heard at least some of her weak attempt of a confession.

“ _Ni vor_ ,” she nodded to indicate that she had heard. Her inhale was deep and shakily, this didn’t make the next day any easier nor anything else. The guardian couldn’t see it but her gaze shifted towards the man who started to flinch again.

-*-*-*-

Tharam suppressed a flinch when her fingers left an even colder and emptier space on his arm. Nothing of the fierceness he had experienced at first hand seemed to be left in the female warrior, a burnt down candle.

Paz was overreacting and manhandling her but he couldn’t do anything against it. On the one hand he was in no condition to and on the other hand he would have given away that he was, even had been awake. He didn’t want her to think that he had eavesdropped, even though her speech had been directed at him.

When he heard her groan he did flinch, the agony he heard made his guts tighten even more than when he had listened to her confessions moments before. What was it that her anguish tore at him like that? Was it about her past and fights with the Imperials, was it because of the implied loss, was it the obvious reclusiveness that she transpired?

He knew that their Armourer would not only want to speak to him as soon as he was in a better condition. Their years of secrecy had been compromised by their other bounty hunter, but it had been their decision to aid him. This encounter had come completely unexpected.

When Paz spoke a third and last time he cringed. A debt could mean anything. Depending on his survival it could even mean her own death. _Tal par tal_ – blood for blood. It would be Paz who would claim the trial instantly and she wouldn’t stand a chance.

He heard her muffled agreement and couldn’t suppress a shaken croak and clumsily he pummelled at Vizla’s hip. His fist just slipping off and falling weakly. But it had the effect he wanted.

Paz jumped to a stand and spun around, in a swift movement he knelt next to him. In a caring gesture Paz placed his gloved hand to the dented part of his helmet where the cheek lay beneath. Tharam positioned his own hand over the other man’s wrist and squeezed in an assuring way.

“ _Su'cuy_ ,” his voice was no more than a husky wheeze, but he made sure that the smile that spread along his face due to the gentle token of camaraderie was heard.

The reaction was immediate. Paz bent in closer and investigated: “ _Me'vaar ti gar_?” He didn’t mind that his friend could feel how worried he was.

Tharam wanted to assure Paz. He slightly leant into the hand against his Beskar cheek and gave his wrist another squeeze. Then he nodded softly: “ _Naas_.”

It was a white lie and both knew it. Paz’s hands quickly inspected his bandages and he grunted approvingly. They both knew that he would pull through eventually.

-*-*-*-

She startled when the blue armour jumped up as if stung by a sand viper. Her victim was obviously awake. The signs of affection and caring made her swallow. She turned her head away to face the wall to give them some privacy.

Their hushed conversation gave her an insight of how well these two warriors were acquainted. Just like her and the Keldab crew – her sort of covert for five years. The combination of her thumping heart and their whispered words slowly put her to sleep.

She woke to everyday noises and conversation which didn’t take place in her immediate vicinity. With some effort she rolled over and rose. In day’s light she saw the neat pile of her armour, well, most of it. Her vambraces were missing. It made sense, they were part of her weaponry and as well all her weapons were not to be seen, neither on nor near her armour, they would have been seized too.

Bending was painful, wriggling into her flight suit too. Clasping on the different pieces of her plates was comforting. As if on cue two sets of armours appeared in the doorway- towering blue, small red – the heavy infantry and the healer.

Her hands still fastening the last cuisse she watched them. The healer was friendly enough and asked if she was okay or if she needed painkillers. She simply moved her head to affirm and then to negate. Then the healer examined her other patient who stirred slowly beneath the touch.

The bulky Mandalorian just stood patiently, yet his visor was mostly directed to the other cot. Finally he went over and put his hand on the shoulder of his friend . Strong arms did not only help the weakened man up but also assisted him in getting clothed too. She realized that he obviously was about to accompany them.

They worked quietly and meticulously on the green-blue armour. It seemed so intimate that she concentrated on lacing her boots. She knew it was time to meet the Armourer when finally both men were standing.

-*-*-*-

They had been talking for some time and agreed on their tactic for the next day. Tharam had been able to convince Paz to get the woman talking, that they needed to know where she came from and if there were more. He had persuaded Paz that the woman might have an answer to the relocation of their covert. What he hadn’t told Paz was his personal enthrallment by the woman.

He really felt lightheaded but wanted to attend the meeting, not only to keep a reign on Paz, but also to satisfy his own curiosity. When he had asked Paz to help him on the next day he had almost been denied his wish. Only when he threatened to try on his own the blue warrior had agreed. When it came to stubbornness he had always been the one on the winning side.

He was glad to be able to rely on the strong arms of his brother in arms, it made the short distance to the armoury bearable. When they had reached their destination they waited at the entrance until the Armourer acknowledged their presence.

When he lowered himself on the bench he watched the woman who had followed them noiselessly. She kept standing at the entrance as if not sure whether the invitation to enter had included her. Only when the Armourer addressed her directly she came in. There was enough room for a second person to sit on the bench but she chose to lower herself onto her knees on the floor. Away from him, or better away from Paz.

When the Armourer took her place the silence spread for what seemed to be an eternity to him. Finally it was broken by the Armourer: “I understand that there had been a quarrel, a misunderstanding even.”

One helmet raised and turned suddenly to take in the other helmets. Two helmets remained mostly static. Tharam and Paz knew how unsettling the Armourer’s observations could be. But how would the foreign Mandalorian take it?

-*-*-*-

The Armourer waited until everyone had found a place they were comfortable with. She had anticipated that the woman would seek her distance.

She knew that her next words might cause an uproar, especially from the covert’s heavy infantry, so she observed with an amused smile his complete passivity besides a turn of his head towards the seated man. She could imagine that Tharam had used similar if not even the same words when he had spoken with Paz.

She waited until the wordless turmoil under at least one of the helmets had settled. Her warriors waited patiently, they were focusing on her next words. “I would like to know about your whereabouts and what brought you here. As well as how it came to the clash with one of my tribe. I understand the importance of secrecy in these daring times.” She broke off as she saw the woman’s posture go rigid.

She had to offer something to get something: “Before I ask you to clarify yourself I will explain about our situation.” This made the woman relax again, at least somewhat. The Armourer thought shortly about how much she should tell this stranger. She decided on telling the whole truth, since she wanted to hear the whole truth of the woman.

When she had ended her narration a silence enclouded the armoury, the only noise came from the forge itself.

-*-*-*-

She knew it was time to relate her story and the feeling of revealing her history made her catch her breath. She sucked in her lower lip and gnawed at it. Where should she start and how much should she relate. She kept it as impersonal as possible, there was no other way how she could pull through it otherwise. Slowly, reluctantly she started, pausing and halting ever so often, but she had three attentive listeners. They gave her the time she needed, the time drew past as her story manifested:

“I was found as a toddler. I was too young to remember where I was found. The tribe took me in and I grew up as one of theirs. I received the training and swore the Creed. I left soon afterwards and drifted, did jobs and added to supply the tribe. For that I sometimes returned. I was taken in by a group of free-fighters and we helped out in the war. Mostly on the side of the rebellion. Also mercenary jobs, when we thought it was the right side. When I was the only one who was left I took over the ship and went on alone.”

She left out her troubles in the tribe – _too personal, irrelevant_. She left out the experiences of the war and its battles – _too personal, irrelevant_. She left out the crew, their bonding and her liaison – _too personal, irrelevant_. She left out the desolation – _too personal, irrelevant_. She had to get a hold on herself to continue. She didn’t want to end up like the other night and a target of their pity:

“After Yavin I drifted on again. Mercenary, bounty hunter and such. The last job I declined, Imps were involved. They are here on Nevarro.”

She told about the effect of her meeting with the Imperials and how it led to the fight and ended finally: “It is no excuse, I know, but it is the reason for what happened. I regret not having had more control of myself.” Looking over to the hovering heavy infantry she added: “It is a debt I accept and mean to pay back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> N'eparavu takisit: sorry (lit: I eat my insult)  
> Ni ceta: sorry (lit: I kneel) grovelling apology – rare  
> Jate.: Good  
> Vor entye: Thank you (lit. “I accept a debt”)  
> Ni vor: I accept  
> Su'cuy: Hi  
> Me'vaar ti gar? How are you?  
> Naas: I'm fine thanks


	9. Blue is loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> confessions and apologies - debts have to be paid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist while writing / reading
> 
> 1) Danheim - Folkvangr https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xWMU8XalsvE  
> 2) Fran Soto - No matter how far I have to go https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wAqSWeykXrg  
> 3) After forever - The key https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bFU_chgitY

She felt tired and drained. She didn’t know if what she had said was enough. Her heartbeat boomed in her ears. Her fingers dug into her knees turning her knuckles white. Her visor was lowered and her back stiff. While she kept kneeling her feet had gone numb. She hadn’t moved an inch during her story. She wouldn’t be able to get back on her feet in a graceful way – if at all.

But as she didn’t know what the Armourer decided to do she kept kneeling and waiting. Desperately trying to rid herself of the feeling of exposure she closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. There was nothing she could actively influence right now, besides her breathing.

She knew that the Armourer was shrewd and at that point she doubted her ability to stand up to her in a battle of wits. Thus it was no surprise to hear the woman say: “A short story for a supposedly long life. But as for now it will do.” Obviously the _alor_ had listened closely to the lines in between, filling the blanks that she had left out on purpose. She had dropped enough hints for the woman to get an overall picture. How well the men had listened she didn’t know.

Silence was everything that remained and somehow it helped her to compose herself. She was thankful that no more inquisitive questions were asked. When the Armourer rose she knew that the questioning was over for the moment. Also the men came to a stand, only she was left kneeling. Putting her palms against the floor she pushed herself up awkwardly. Momentarily her legs felt disconnected, like bags filled with Bantha wool, and she didn’t trust them to support her weight.

Both men left the room and made their way back to the makeshift med bay, again the taller steadying the smaller one. While the Armourer’s helmet studied her for a moment she just kept waiting to regain the feeling in her legs. Her toes already started tingling and she wriggled them in her boots to goad the blood flow.

“Take your time,” the observant voice said. “Then return to your room. You are expected to not leave without notice.” And with that she turned to continue with her work.

Like in a trance she finally went back. … _not leave without notice_ – she was confined. The wish to leave sparked immediately. An old vice to do exactly the opposite of what others told her to do. She had never taken kindly to orders. Well, not never. Working with Jurann, Mayh and…. Denx had worked for her. She had never questioned their authority. It had come naturally and her young age had helped in the beginning, later it was the trust she had had in them.

-*-*-*-

He felt tired by the time Paz helped him to sit on his cot. His whole body seemed to ache and he tenderly prodded where the bandages were. The events of the night before added to the feeling of exhaustion.

Raptly he had listened to the other version of her story, again he could almost see the emotions that came off of her in waves, but this time they were more … He wondered which word would apply. … Caged, yes that was fitting.

In the circle of attentive listeners her emotions were caged and guarded. She had felt much more distanced than the night before, where raw emotions had brought tears to her eyes. Now she had paused after each sentence, as if thinking how to form the next one, as if giving them time to fill the void with pictures of their own.

He had learnt more about this woman and he put the tales together. Same as the _alor_ – she had probably done her own maths. Especially when it came to the ship she had – the covert needed to relocate – she could be of help, if she was willing.

But his mind moved to the things he had learnt. She had been raised by Mandalorians, his people – war orphan, maybe by a clan they knew. She had received training – maybe part of the fighting corps, her style was ruthless. She had seen battles and the war – even in their hiding they had heard about Yavin, she had been there. She had lost people – they had meant something to her, her family, maybe even a love. She had worked as a bounty hunter – just like him and the other _beroya_.

There was still more he wanted to know, but she was secretive and he couldn’t blame her. He wanted to tell her that he had heard her explanations, her apology and accepted it wholeheartedly, but he couldn’t without compromising her and revealing that he had been witness to her meltdown.

He watched her as she drifted into the room and sat down on her cot, almost noiselessly and wordlessly. He watched her as she just sat there, the chin part of her helmet resting on her cuirass. Her hands grabbed her kneecaps, her back was straight. He watched her breathing closer, it was even. He watched the edge of her helmet closer, but he couldn’t detect anything there. She was still guarded.

He watched her shoulder slowly tightening and pulling up. He watched her fingers clenching at her knees. Slowly he tilted his helmet questioningly, as his eyes hidden by the visor wandered up and down her form.

“ _Ni ceta_ ,” her voice came soft as a breeze. He liked her voice even through the modulation of the vocoder took from its richness, but he didn’t like the sound of defeat it held. She beat him to his respond. His silence must have been too long and eating at her. “Please, accept my debt.”

He inhaled and held his breath. “There is no debt, it was a fair fight after all,” he felt stupid as soon as the words were out, but also relieved, it was the truth. Though her initial attack had been a surprise, there had been nothing dishonourable during their fight.

He saw her slow nod, then she quickly shook her head: “No, there was no need to use the blade. It could have killed you.”

He exhaled with a short gasp. “It was a fight and I was your enemy. You did what you had to do, “ he tried to sound convincing and comforting. “We are Mandalorians, we fight to win.”

“Erm… yes … we do,” her voice sounded even further off and he realized that something else was on her mind.

“Ask,” he prompted her. “Just ask, I will answer truthfully.” By opening to her he hoped that she would be able to be more open herself, to be less guarded. With the Armourer it had worked.

She took her time before she simply stated: “You were awake.”

A panicking sound formed in his throat as he inhaled sharply in surprise at her observation and nodded solemnly.

“How long … How much,” her vocoder cracked, but he knew what she wanted to know.

He remembered very well her cool fingers on his skin, absentmindedly his hand brushed over his shoulder where her hand had anchored herself during her confession. “Your touch woke me … I could feel your hand on my shoulder…” his voice got too low for the modulator to pick up more. Now it was his time to sound defeated: “… and I still can.” It was lost on her and a part of him regretted it.

“So everything … you’ve heard everything,” she realized this meant not only her words. “I’m sor…”

“Don’t be,” this time he was hasty to interrupt her. “There is nothing to be sorry about.”

As he started he couldn’t stop himself and he didn’t want to. “I understand that – with what you experienced just before – that it was the wrong time and place for me to be. … Maybe I wouldn’t have reacted differently. … Actually I enjoyed our ... ok this sounds ridiculous now … but I did enjoy our encounter, well up to the point where you stabbed me.” He interrupted himself with a short snicker. “But you fought well, and so different to what I’m used to. It was a change and distraction from my routine. I mean, there are not that many I can spar with ….” He caught himself. “I sound like a fool. I’m sorry for being a di’kut.”

He heard a faint chuckle: “Now it is my time to say there is nothing to be sorry about, huh.?”

He snorted: “Could be. Maybe. Well, yes.”

When her chuckle stopped he felt certain that she wanted to switch to another topic and she did:

“What will he demand or claim as a debt?”

He saw why that thought had her lose the slice of merriness and it sobered him too: “I’m afraid I don’t know. But good news is, it seems like I’m going to live.” It was nonsense to wink at her under the helmet, but he was sure she could pick up the teasing light-hearted tone of his voice.

He was sincere and serious when he assured her: “I will talk to him, he will listen to me ….”

But she stopped him: “What is it then that _you_ demand?”

“I….. I… I don’t know,” he was perplexed. He hadn’t thought about this for a single moment. It had initially been him she had excused to, so it was his right. Paz had only stepped in because he had thought him to be unconscious.

“Let me know when you do.” She turned round and lay down on her cot facing towards the wall.

He had thought that he could get closer, that she would ask more, but she had shut the door just like that. He sighed, maybe getting some sleep was not a bad idea at all.

-*-*-*-

She woke to the noise of hammering. With a grunt she moved feeling completely stiff. She had woken up in the same position she had fallen asleep. Joints popped as she wrangled herself out from the blanket. She had fallen asleep in her full garment. Rubbing sore points where the metal had dug into her body she investigated where the noise came from.

The heavy infantry was erecting an area of privacy with the help of some canvasses which he fastened to the ceiling. The space which had been divided off of the shared room was small but it fitted a small table and the stool plus some extra space.

She realized that without it both she and the man she shared the room with would have no place to take off their helmets. And with the order to stay where she was, this little gesture – by whoever had it ordered – seemed very thoughtful, generous and even kind.

When he had finished he gave her a short nod with his helmet. Only when he nodded more pointedly she realized that the table was not empty. Two mugs and plates with some food were placed on it. The space had to serve two, one at a time.

She didn’t feel that hungry, but that had been the case for the past years. A starting headache though reminded her to stay hydrated. After she had entered the makeshift curtain was pulled close.

She sat down and removed the helmet. Her braid had become untied over the past two days. She ruffled it at her scalp and pulled back loose strands. She didn’t like the smell that came off them.

Since she hadn’t heard the Mandalorian leave she dared to ask, putting some carelessness into her voice: “ Say, is there any chance to get cleaned up?” A surprised grunt came from the other side of the curtain. A mischievous grin stole up her face. “And I would like to speak to the Armourer.”

-*-*-*-

When he entered the room both were sleeping. The Armourer had set him to the task and it would grant his brother in arms some privacy, and the woman. He didn’t know why their leader had refused to have either of them move out, why she insisted on them staying together in that room. In the end he followed her orders.

The woman was up first. He noted that she wore her armour when she got up. The timing was good as he had just finished the curtain which separated a small portion of the room from the main part. Its purposes could be many. Right now to give them the chance to eat something. He would have liked his _vod_ to be the first, but actually it didn’t matter.

When she spoke to him he was stunned when he realized that she had already removed the helmet. The distorted sound was gone, leaving a rich, slightly low tone. He imagined she used her chest note just naturally. It was a voice that could be heard as a soft rumble when spoken with a dark undertone. It was a voice that could sound like smoke and honey at the same time. And it was a voice that could reach a booming volume.

It was nothing impossible she asked and so informed her that he would show her when everything was prepared. This was as good an excuse as any to leave and he would tell the Armourer, too.

-*-*-*-

He woke to the noise as Paz installed the curtain. He was facing the room so he quietly watched the scene in front of him. As he scrutinised his tribe member he saw the uncomfortably set shoulders and stance – he was not at ease. The corner of his eyes crinkled as he smiled widely – this was more than amusing.

And when she started to speak behind the curtain he was torn in half. He had to bite his tongue.

To prevent a snort of laugh as the battle-hardened warrior jerked as if he had been punched into his solar plexus or even lower. And to prevent himself from a sigh or worse a moan as her voice sent a shiver through his body and his soul.

She finished too hurriedly and stood expectantly near the door. When Paz returned she followed him, discreetly keeping some distance between them. Only then he also rose and went over to their private lunch area.

He took off his helmet and scowled at the table in front of him. On her side only the mug was empty, the plate was still full of food. He couldn’t imagine that she hadn’t been hungry. He for his part was ravenous. He sat down slightly sideways, still favouring his leg, and dug in. Devouring the contents of his plate in record time he decided to get rid of the grime on his body too.

He reached down to retrieve his helmet which he had set on the ground next to the tables’ legs when something reddish caught his eye and he reached for it. He was dumbfounded when he realized that it was strands of her hair, just a few but undoubtedly hers. He straightened the slightly wavy strands, measuring its length and slowly twirled and wrapped them round his fingers in a coil. He looked at the result closely and tugged it into his chest pocket.

-*-*-*-

It was simple, almost primitive and definitely not comparable to the luxury of the Keldab. But the water was hot thanks to the lava stream. She felt spoilt and refreshed at the same time. That she had to get into her old set of clothing again was an inconvenience she could deal with.

She tried to get her hair as dry as possible, on the Keldab she just would have wound a towel around and let it air-dry, but here she had to put on the helmet again. She gathered the waist-long strands into a single braid and shove it underneath her suit. With the helmet back on she sought out the Armourer.

As she had learnt in their previous meeting she waited at the entrance until the woman at the forge bade her to enter and sit. This time she did sit on the provided bench. While the Armourer took her time to settle down also, she rehearsed inwardly what she was going to propose.

Finally the Armourer signed that she was ready for what she had to offer and she kept her voice as factual as possible.

“You informed me you have to relocate the covert.” – it was a fact.

“I have a ship – a light frighter.” – that was also a fact.

“I have a debt to pay.” – another fact, though one that affected only one of the covert.

At her last statement the Armourer leant towards her: “Then we shall hear the one involved.”

She rose her eyebrow, she hadn’t anticipated that. She wondered who the Armourer would get. The Wall or the Eavesdropper.

She was not too surprised when both men appeared in the forge. What caught her off guard was that the smaller squeezed himself nonchalantly onto the bench too. If she didn’t want their outer thighs pressed together she would have to make more space for him.

She didn’t feel like giving in even an inch, but the heat he radiated was too close for her taste. However far she pushed herself to the other end of the seating furniture it was too short to completely escape his radiance.

It was too much for her, if she wanted to keep her composure she had to stand. She turned to the men and broke the news to them: “As you have to relocate the covert you need a ship and I have got a light frighter,” with a cautious look at both men she repeated “ and I have a dept to pay.”

After a pause she finalized with a strain in her voice: “This is my offer.”

She had refrained from adding _take it or leave it_ , but the tension the Wall emitted became instantly evident. She felt the irritation rise in her. He had knocked her out, manhandled her, pushed her around physically and verbally, she had enough. It was with a sardonic sneer she addressed him with: “Or did _you_ have something else in mind?”

She knew she was pushing her luck. But it had been him to accept her apology first. His posture bristled but before he could speak the man she had stabbed twice pushed himself off the bench and turned to face the man behind him. With a slight step to the side he brought him in a direct line between him, his _vod,_ and her, the _aruetii_.

“And it is I who bears the wounds, “ his voice was vibrant and full of emotions she had difficulty to read. “Therefore it is I who says I accept this offer as a way to make amends. That is if the _alor_ agrees.”

The Armourer was quick to agree: “I do. It is sensible. This is the way.” The men retorted likewise. The only voice missing was hers. It was not her tribe.

-*-*-*-

He was lucky to have escaped in one piece. The relief he had felt when the little one had woken up was immense. Still the guilt washed over him again and again. The least he could do was to provide for some quiet time. He was fond of his foundling even when he developed a head of his own. More often than not he could only shake his head and give in to the antics of the little one. He pondered his options, they were limited, so limited. 

When he landed on the lush green planet his hopes were high to be able to keep a low profile here. But what he encountered in the cantina had set his alerts on red. What she was capable of, he had to learn first-hand. Parts of his body reminded him for several hours and he swiftly admitted having her on his side was preferable to the other option.

It was good to fight with her, not against her. She knew what had to be done, she was a talented teacher and she had a way that made him trust her. She just took him as he was, though her quick mind had him on the edge at times. Even though he didn’t show it, she was able to make him smile and that felt good.

And then there was this other woman, who made him smile too, but in a different way. She was capable in her own way. But she didn’t see _him_ , she wanted to see him for real. She didn’t know the way of the Mandalorians. This was not the way, he was not prepared for that.

As much as he hated to leave the green paradise, he was also glad to leave. Just the little one was not too happy. He had to try elsewhere – his people or as his father…..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alor: leader  
> beroya: bounty hunter  
> Ni ceta: sorry (lit: I kneel) grovelling apology – rare  
> di’kut: idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)  
> vod: mate, comrade  
> aruetii: stranger, traitor


	10. Blue is honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when a debt has to be paid back too soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist  
> 1) epica - cry for the moon https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rxaa1Si3CgI  
> 2) Eluveitie - Havoc https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DSTwGf7-QDg  
> 3) After forever - beyond me https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHwuX_k-4ag

She didn’t have to pack anything as the covert was not her home so she helped out wherever she was needed. Mostly she accompanied her so to say roommate. Both were not fully healed yet so working together to combine their strengths and weaknesses was, as the Armourer put it, a necessary logic.

His possessions, scarce as they were, were the first they put together. As the storage boxes pooled in the main corridor it became evident that a first trip to the shuttle and ship had to be made.

As soon as the streets of Nevarro were less frequented she set out with the first boxes. The two warriors, Paz and Tharam, would follow and add to the storage piling in the A’den. When the shuttle’s limits were reached, the speeder still took up some of the space, they boarded and she piloted them to the Keldab.

“Once we have reloaded, I will relocate her closer to the shipyards,” she informed the men behind her in the shuttle’s hull.

She heard the unalloyed suspicion in his deep voice when he asked: “A light frighter?! How is this supposed to work, such a ship is immense. Bigger than anything else that had landed on-world.”

“This will help us to remain unseen, “ she informed her guests. She waited until both men had drawn closer into the small cockpit to look out of its front screen. Without her vambraces she had to use the shuttle computer.

And then she heard their gasps. She couldn’t see their eyes, when the cloak lifted and her ship came into sight, but she grinned delightedly as she envisioned their impressed expressions. She knew the Keldab had that effect. One of the reasons she liked to keep her hidden.

She kept her answer vague yet informative enough to ensure them: “Cloaking system, modified sensor scramblers with ... hhmm … let’s say a range of … erm … upgrades.” This earned her a chuckle from the lean man.

After she had connected shuttle and ship she went down the ladder and showed the bulking Mandalorian the storage areas. He would be the mule carrying the boxes to their designated area. The other warrior was to lower them carefully whereas she would receive them on the ship’ s level.

Once the shuttle was empty she sat in the pilot seat and went through the starting sequence. Her hands were busy navigating the ship and pressing additional sets of buttons.

She manoeuvred her once again cloaked ship closer to the shipyards. They still would have to use the shuttle, though. But with the additional help of the speeder heavier things could be moved faster.

They went back to the covert, one by one, on different routes. The A’den was to be loaded a second time. Slowly the boxes gathered in the shuttle. She was just arranging her last burden when she saw the lean warrior arrive.

She could hear his ragged breathing. He was dragging the box instead of carrying it and he was limping pronouncedly. Suddenly she felt a wave of guilt tear at her innards. It was her fault that he was so winded and in pain.

“Hey roommate, it is better when someone stays with the shuttle, so no one gets funny ideas about who this belongs to, “ she reasoned with him. She had tried to keep the sound of concern out of her voice.

“Sure, leave the invalids behind, “he gently mocked her with a cocked helmet. However, the sigh he let out when he sat on the box he had just arrived with told her he was glad to get some rest. But there was more cockiness in him: “What if I get lonely here? I’ve gotten used to a .. roommate.”

Her visor came up to his in a glare. He couldn’t see her raised brow and she wondered if he had cared if he could see it. When his helmet gave a pitiful shake she knew he tried puppy eyes on her. She just rolled her eyes and turned once again back to the covert.

Once she came she had brought him company though. Three of the youngest foundlings which she had engaged in a game of stalking and running for cover to reach the shuttle.

She made sure all were seated well for the now shorter trip. On their arrival she ushered them to the lounge area. When she and her roommate had cleared the shuttle she told the man to rest in the unused cabin.

She hurried back alone. By now the walking mountain would feel more like a mule than a man. With several trips back and forth her storage rooms had filled. And by the end of the night she felt crowded when she entered the ship. About a dozen of children sat intimidated in the booth of the lounge area or in the room she hadn’t had any use for, talking with hushed voices. Along with the healer, two Mandalorians had come on board for their protection. The rest was still in the covert.

-*-*-*-

As soon as he had claimed her debt to be his he knew he had crossed his brother’s way. But he hadn’t had any time put to Paz in the picture, so positioning himself in between them was the only rational although impulsive decision. But he had seen her fiery temper ignite at the drop of a helmet, or in this case the bristling figure of Paz – _ori skotah iisa_ – she did have a very short fuse.

When the Armourer told everybody to pack up, a hustle broke out in the covert. He found out that she was also capable in more domestic things than kicking other people’s asses. While working along he bore witness to the assured way she worked and organised everything. He was impressed and clearly saw her as a member of a crew.

When he saw the shuttle with the speeder inside he wondered if that was what she had referred to as her ship. But as they left with the shuttle full with the boxes of possessions, provisions, weapons and ammunition she had assured them that there was enough storage room.

He hadn’t seen her activate the command in the cockpit of the shuttle but when the Keldab suddenly uncloaked he knew that Paz was bearing the same facial expression of astonishment and awe. It was a beautiful ship and deadly when it came to the cannons.

Already on the way back from the first trip he felt so worn out and the burning sensation in his leg had become beyond bearable. When neither of the two watched he ran his hand up and down his thigh to dampen the sensation. In his weakened state he felt completely useless.

He tried to hide it, but he was limping when he came back with the storage box he had packed for her. It was not especially heavy as it only contained her weapons, vambraces and her cloak which she had left behind.

When she told him to stay a fondness spread in his chest at the way how she disguised her concern. He hoped that she didn’t feel too guilty again and tried to make light of the situation. The glare he apparently earned was worth his insolence and after she had been out of earshot he had a good laugh.

The shuttle had been cleared a second time and he had been left to accompany the confused children. He shove himself off the chair he had occupied in the cabin and used the time to explore the ship. Although he felt like an intruder he wanted to make sure that she found her personal box in the cabin she used.

It was not difficult to find as it was located just opposite of the room he was in. Entering through the open door he placed the container right next to the entrance before he let his eyes roam. The two cabins were similar in their layout. The furnishings were plain and spoke of usage, but everything was kept clean and neat. Compared to the bunkbeds of the covert, the beds which filled the two cabins seemed huge. There were also sideboards on the walls, lockers and some kind of desks.

His eyes were drawn to a blinking holo disc on her desk. The blinking of the disc told him that the last message was still activated and on stand-by. His curiosity flared up. Her innuendos gnawed at his desire to fully understand her. This disc might be something to slightly lift the veil of mystery.

Slowly he shuffled over and with trembling fingers he activated only the optical function. His eyes were drawn to the face of a young man: A tall lean figure, dark short cropped and somewhat spiky hair framed a handsome face with a square chin and high cheekbones. His mouth flashed a smile as he spread his arms sidewise.

That was when he saw the armour of the man – Beskar! – a Mandalorian armour! A warrior without helmet! He almost stumbled back. He was definitely an intruder! He had already turned to storm out of the room when he remembered to set back the device so that nothing would reveal what he felt to be his betrayal now.

He reeled from her room, tripped over a crawling toddler – the youngest had got loose – struck the doorframe opposite with a groan, heaved himself in, smashed the door shut and fell sprawled over the bed in his room.

He was panting – suffocating. His vocoder was crackling and screeching with his wheezing. His rasps quivered through his chest. He needed to breathe freely.

His hands shot up, numb fingers clawed at the helmet’s opening mechanism, a hopeless attempt. He ripped off his gloves, even there he had to struggle.

It was not enough. His cuirass was heaving under his gulps. He yanked it off. It fell off his stunned hands and fell clattering onto the floor.

What had he done!

-*-*-*-

She had just slipped in for a last load and chaos erupted. The sentries’ alarm resounded in the covert’s hall. Shots and explosions deafened ears. Fouling residues und smoke watered eyes. Warriors ran to meet the oncoming enemy.

Shouts of orders, yells of anger, screams of pain disorientated her until she met the golden helmet of the Armourer. An order was bellowed and without ceremony her arm was firmly gripped by the gloves of the woman. She was shoved around and pushed through the halls towards another secret entry to the covert.

She felt even more disorientated and lost. The now familiar wall of blue appeared next to her and the female gloved hands were replaced by male gloved hands. Their grip even more bruising.

Together they dashed through the maze of corridors. Halting now and then behind a corner or cover. Sometimes she was pushed forward as the heavy infantry secured her retreat.

Suddenly they burst into the streets above ground. Again she was torn along by the iron grip. She tried to orient herself as they dashed through the alleys. Then she knew where they were – somewhere off of the other side of the cantina and they would have to cross the market place to reach the A’den.

The place was crawling in white and black – troopers!

Had she been faltering before now her world shattered completely. Brainlessly she stumbled, caught herself, stumbled again, was pulled erect until a hand snatched her back.

But it was too late. They had been seen. The hand pointed – her shuttle. She was shoved forward again and the crushing sensation left her arm leaving a bruising sensation.

Heavy shots and recoils rang out behind and about her but they got more distant as she raced forward. She needed to get to the shuttle and its hidden compartment.

She hammered the code into the shuttle, tore in and into where her rifle and its ammo was. Sprinting back towards the sounds of battle she found the blue wall again and added to his fire.

The blue helmet briefly turned and nodded. She nodded back and behind – time for retreat. Together they backed up and inched back to the waiting shuttle.

The last corner and their last cover. She looked back and opened the shuttle in between firing. Then a string of colourful multilingual curses escaped her lips when she saw the speeder still standing outside the shuttle. It would have to be sacrificed.

The warrior to her side must have understood her because he nudged her and grumbled: “ Get it started then make the shuttle ready, we are to head out.” His attention was instantly drawn back to where the blasters shot at them.

She spurted to the speeder, did as the Mandalorian had ordered. Before she entered the her shuttle she helped out with her firepower. Then she hurried to get her shuttle operable. It was roaring to life and she hurried back to the shuttle’s entrance. In its cover she helped in the retreat of the companion.

As soon as he was within reach she made for the cockpit. With a screech of the speeder and loud shout of the warrior both gracelessly smashed into the inside of the shuttle. She immediately set off, not minding the still open hatch.

During the short sprint she hit orders into the computer. The current inhabitants would be surprised when the Keldab’s starting sequence came to life without the pilot being present.

As soon as she had connected the shuttle she jumped down into her ship and dashed towards the cockpit. Time was still essential.

-*-*-*-

The Armourer’s order made his heart bleed. He was the heavy infantry, he should be in the first row. But she had sent him away with black armoured woman. Strangely it was now that he noted the missing cloak. But now was not the time have a closer look at her.

He pulled her along until they finally surfaced. The zigzag course through the town gradually brought them closer to the shuttle. Until they ran into the division of Death Troopers.

He raised hell with his gun and when she had come suddenly with a rifle of her own they were able to double the counts. She was a good shot he had to admit. She didn’t waste ammunition and her shots were unerring.

That she was not amused he got instantly and he was quite amused by the choice of swearwords she used. Basic – Hutteese – Mando’a and several other languages he couldn’t make out. But he understood her. The speederbike was useful and he had an idea how to make sure they would get both airborne without getting sieved.

While he was picking off more troopers he heard first the speeder then the shuttle come to life, he was backing off towards the bike. Now swiftness was essential. Swirling his blaster canon around onto his back he jumped onto the bike, accelerated, braked and let it slide sideways into shuttle’s hull. He almost bounced off the opposite wall, then something slammed into his side and drove him back into the wall again.

Swinging his canon forward again he kept firing until they had gained enough height. They would be following them, but the shuttle would arrive sooner at the ship, there was still a chance they could make it off world.

At some point the hydraulic door had shut and he also felt the jolt of the shuttle settling on the ship. He saw a lithe black form gliding down the ladder and he heard the thump her boots made when she landed a level lower. He was even aware of the ship's lurch off planet. What he didn’t feel anymore was falling off the speeder.

-*-*-*-

She was nervous, being out of the tunnels had her nerves always on edge. But she tried to remain calm and she tried to keep all the children together. The re-location, the ship, the whole situation had everybody nervous. The ones taking it the best were the two warriors of course, they kept the older children busy, and the smaller toddlers.

But where for maker’s sake was their smallest, he had a tendency to scuttle off. She heard a metallic thump, an annoyed groan and the small squeak as she looked around the booth. There was the little one in the corridor, she was up to get him back but at the loud sound of the cabin door being slammed shut she shrank back involuntarily.

But she had to gather the little crawler. So close to cabin’s door she could hear the gasped breathing accompanied by more metallic thuds. She was about knock but simply let her hand sink, he was still wounded after all and all this container moving might not have done him good.

She ushered the small child to the others and sat back down in the booth. There was nothing else do do.

But it didn’t take long. The sound of the ship’s engines roaring up made everyone jump. The warriors had drawn their blasters and were moving. One towards the ladder leading up to where the shuttle would be, the other to the hull’s entrance.

The sound of the shuttle returning had the warriors not relax, only when the black uniform of the newly arrived female warrior came jumping down into the ship the tension dissolved for a second.

All grownups gathered the urgency with which she was pushing around them as she headed to the cockpit. Not a word was spoken, they just knew that something awful had happened.

They were in the air already when she tentatively inched towards the cockpit: “May I?”

The black helmet just nodded. She continued to pry: “What happened?”

“Imperial attack.” The voice sounded strained, the leather grasping the levers creaked. “We are to head out.”

She had gasped as the meaning of the words hit her: “Where are ... are there no … ?” her voice failed her.

“The heavy infantry was rear guard.”

She looked back down the corridor, besides the already present members, there was no one there. Looking back down to the black helmet she pressed on fearing to hear what she didn’t want to hear: “Was … is he … ?”

“What? No he was on the shuttle with me,” the helmet came round sharply and looked down the corridor then up at her. “Give me a minute to set the course.”

“It is ok, I will see to him,” gladly the overall nervousness hid her rising one. She quickly retreated towards the connecting area.

-*-*-*-

The floor he was lying on felt cold, even through his flight suit and armour. He felt the dull hum of the engines and he knew they were off-world. Going just anywhere as they had nowhere to return to.

He pushed the thoughts about the others of the covert far away, too clear the Armourer's order had been. Laboriously he put his hands under his body and pushed himself up and crawled on all fours towards the ladder leading down.

Somehow his foot couldn’t find the rung, no matter where he blindly tapped for it. Suddenly he felt a hand brushing against his heel. He held very still and let the hand guide his foot to where it was safe to put his weight on. Also his other foot was guided. He was helped down bit by bit, rung after rung.

After the second rung it was no longer necessary, but the hand kept guiding his slow descent. The lower he came the higher the hand moved up. From his heels to his outside of his knees to where the tassets hid his hips to his sides, he flinched and froze.

A sharp inhale told him that the guide who stood in his back had found where a shot hat torn trough his side.

A second voice from further away pulled him from his stupor: “The ship has a med bay, just to your right. You can treat him there.”

Immediately the hands went to his arms and tugged urgently. He looked back and down, it had been the healer who had more than just guided him. They were safe in hyperspace, he gave in to her. He let her pull him towards the med bay for treatment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ori skotah iisa: very short fuse = hot temper, easily angered / upset


	11. Blue is trustworthiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heros get injured and need treatment (trigger warning: blood etc.) and some get a different treatment than they expected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: treatment of injuries, blood, hurt  
> songlist:  
> 1) After forever - black tomb https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMneXT5fEBA  
> 2) Kamelot - The haunting https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RE7_Zp0lX1c  
> 3) wolfsheim - for you i'm bleeding https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JWU9GzxuJoo

He woke up to turmoil outside and felt the ship starting engines. He was still disarrayed and he wiped rigorously at his eyes. His rough hands had a calming effect as he rubbed them over his face. Lifting to a sitting position he combed his fingers through his dark brown hair.

He was lazy with his hair. He left it unattended until the lengths already tickled this collar bone before he cropped it short, just to wait until the familiar tickle was back.

It took him longer than normally to put on the pieces of armour he had torn off. By the time he was able to open the door to the cabin and get out he was almost run into by the healer who ran towards the star of the ship.

As he looked towards the cockpit he saw the black armoured woman there. And as he looked towards where the healer had run he saw her climbing up the rungs and reach up.

He realized she was helping someone down. It took him a few minutes to register the dark blue of the heavy infantry’s armour against the dark background.

His thoughts warmed at the healer guiding their strongest fighter down a ladder. He had nourished some suspicions over the last few years. They both seemed to be able to find the other too often, to be just a coincidence. A quick grin spread across his face.

Being now in a place with few possibilities to avoid the other things might change for them. He promised himself to pay a close look. But he also wanted to pay close attention to somebody else too.

He was ripped from his daydreaming when he heard the healer’s fearful yelp. He was the first to react while the two warriors kept the bunch of children at bay. Carefully, one hand on the wall to stabilize himself, he inched himself closer. His eyes roamed up and down his brother’s frame. For the healer to react like this the huge man must be hurt.

His worry was confirmed when he saw her hand come off the man’s side trenched in blood. He hobbled closer and rounded his _vod_. With the slightly swaying man in their middle they made over to the med bay and lay him down on the provided bunk.

Then he moved out of the way. Before he could leave he heard the now business-like voice of their healer: “You will come back when I tell you. Then it is your turn … again.”

He smiled weakly and sighed: “I will, just call.” He left the med bay and went over to the booth in the lounge area. Some children were pulled on laps so that he had place to sit. Looking at each and single one he softly asked: “Is anyone hurt? Are you fine?”

-*-*-*-

He just so felt the stronger arms of a man slip round his good side and turned his head to see the well-known green-blue helmet. Although the _beroya_ had problems to keep himself upright he helped him to find his way to the med bay. The man was reliable to his last and he trusted him with his life. Shortly he wondered if that was the case just now.

Whereas the grip of the man was strong bordering fierce and helped him to gather his own strength to not go to his knees where he stood, the touch of the woman was light and steadying coaxing him to do the next step.

As soon as he was feeling the cot behind his knees he let himself sink down and leant back with his helmet giving a soft thud as the wall supported his shoulders. He gave his _vod_ a short nod to tell him that he was sitting securely in a stable position.

He had been positioned so that his still strong left hand could read the end of the cot and he used its metal frame to steady himself.

His head slightly slipped to his left where the healer was rummaging through shelves and sideboards. In her hand she was hoarding the supplies she was going to need.

He watched her in silence as she put everything on the small tray next to the bed and pulled a stool closer. But she didn’t sit down.

His eyes went wide for a second as she started to work on his breastplate. His inhale was sharp. Propping himself up slightly more, he helped her to unclasp the buckles and locks. His right was faintly trembling and his ears felt unnaturally warm.

His breathing became shallow when she helped him with his pauldrons next. When it came to his vambraces she held back, only reaching out to receive them and put them away.

Then she reached for his utility belt, he swatted her hands away with a grunt. He bristled with self-defence. “Can do that,” more heat shot up his ears, engulfing his neck and throat.

With clarity he could hear each single heartbeat rapidly thrumming in his ears. He knew that his voice sounded coarse, maybe even a bit too irritated, she was the healer after all and he earned better than that.

“Sorry,” he still sounded like a Wampa with a cold. After clearing his throat he tried again: “ Sorry, I … ermm … I didn’t mean to. ‘S just I’m used to it … well .. not used to it.”

He lifted his head to have his visor in-plane with hers. He heard a very soft giggle: “I know, but now you are _my_ patient,” and with that her hands reached out again.

He almost jumped under her hands and his helmet jerked down. The chin part colliding with his chest piece earned him another giggle and a shush. The modulator of his helmet croaked pitifully.

He didn’t even dare to breathe as he watched his belt getting opened. She tried to pull it free but when it didn’t budge he felt her hands come to his hips. Even under his armour he could feel her fingers nudging him encouragingly to lift hips.

He stared into her visor again unable to move even a single muscle. Her headed nodded at him, he was still frozen. “Come on, lift.”

He gulped down at nothing, his mouth was completely dry. Only very slowly he shifted his weight and complied. As soon as she had freed his belt he plummeted back with a grunt.

She wasn’t done. Again he kept very still at the strange feeling of her nestling fingers. The hands of somebody else, not his hands who did the de-armouring which would leave him without one of the walls of protection. He had to concentrate on keeping his hands by his side when she undid the fastenings of his tassets which also held his kama.

Behind the wall of his T-visor he could watch her. Her steady and quiet preparations for his treatment helped him to calm down. A squishy tranquillity settled in him. He liked that she didn’t fuss, but just did what had to be done.

His bearings changed the instant she tenderly fumbled for closing mechanism of the flak vest. More a growl than a voice escaped him: “No-grr!”

The red helmet of the healer came closer and just came to a stop inches away from his. It would take only a small tilt of his for a _kov'nyn_ – a Keldabe kiss. His heart started a race he couldn’t win.

But it was her who covered this last inch. The soft thud of their helmets meeting had him breathless. His fists clawed into the cot’s covers, his eyes sprinted from one vertical dark line to the other.

And when she spoke it was a soft but intense plea: “I know, but treatment is essential. You don’t want to bleed out on me, which you are actually doing right now.” When she slowly moved her hands to place her palms flatly on his cheek parts, a massive shudder ran through his body.

He didn’t want to, he didn’t like the feeling of un-protection, but he knew she was right and he trusted her.

Hesitatingly he took her hand in his and squeezed softly. He hoped that she couldn’t feel the shaking in it as he guided her. Her hand seemed small in his although she was not a small woman. When they had placed their combined hands on the side of his flak vest he let go.

Her visor hadn’t stopped to look at his, so he nodded his willingness.

He grated his teeth when he felt the heavy fabric scrape over his side. But he was barely able to compose himself when he heard her whisper again: “And.. the flight suit … please, we … to hurry.”

He watched her helmet lower to his side just above his hip and he followed her line of sight. He had felt going stiff somewhere on his right and the warm sensation that filled his suit before it cooled in an irksome way. The pool of blood spread over his grey suit and the covers of the cot made him uneasy.

On seeing himself in what kind of condition he was he could place the dizziness that seemed to increase with each breath he tool. Wriggling his bulky and tensed torso out of the suit wouldn’t have been possible without her help. And although it was not cold in the med bay he skin reacted in shivers and horripilation.

He didn’t want to and couldn’t have resisted as she gently pushed him to lie on his side so that she could work on the torn flesh. Her hand felt cool on his hip, anchoring him here as her other hand examined his inflamed skin, dappling the blood, inspecting the deep seeping laceration, cleaning and …

The metal cot screeched under his jerking body, he growled loudly. But there was this cool anchor and his rigid body sank back. He wanted to ask what she was doing, why it burnt all of a sudden and…

-*-*-*-

She had calculated the course and jumped a hyper lane, then she gave herself some minutes to collect herself. She could her the voices of the people in the lounge area – so few and still – for her – so many people. The Keldab had never been as crowded as she was right now.

She hoped that the blue wall didn’t do too badly, but when she watched over her shoulder how he needed the help of two, a bad feeling worked itself into her heart. Her med bay was well equipped.

She caught her inhale halfway and herself from a sigh. She alone had had not that much need of the medical treatments stored there. When they were still four it was much more needed.

As she placed her hands on the arms of her pilot seat to push herself out of it she heard the howl worthy of a Loth-Wolf. She would have to see how the healer was doing.

She saw the man rear up and fall back. Her scanning eyes quickly took in the patch of dark crimson spread on the sheet, the heap of patches, bandages and more. She knew which drawers had been searched and went to one of the lockers.

The healer was doing her work well, she decided as she watched the treatment over the shoulders of the slightly smaller woman. Inspecting the still bleeding wound she knew Bacta itself would take too long. She took one of the last Kolto-filled syringes and handed it to the healer.

The red helmet went from hers to the syringe and back. “Just inject it into the wound. Is better than Bacta-patches, they won’t stick anyway – with that much flowing liquids.” The woman made space for her and she took over.

The man was out cold, so getting the Kolto where it would do its best was no problem. She took the Bacta gauze and with the healer’s help they had the man’s abdomen dressed without jostling him too much.

She tenderly placed her hands on a small red pauldron: “He will be fine.” A tense nod was her answer. “But it is so deep, his external oblique muscle ... and deeper …, what if his intestines are perforated. He will …. “ Squeezing the worried woman’s shoulder she shook her head: “With the Kolto he will be fine, she stated convincingly.

“And the beroya, he …” She remembered the man’s limp to the med bay and back to the lounge booth. With a nod towards the unconscious man she gathered patches and bandages and left for the common area.

There she saw him, with a small child on his lap. The child’s arms were draped round his neck. He was entertaining the whole group. His free right arm was waving around animatedly and what he said tore a laughter from all children and even the two adults.

She placed herself in front of the booth and waited until she had his attention then she gestured him with a sidewise nod towards her cabin, wriggling the clutched treatment articles in her hand.

His helmet came up to hers, went over to follow her nod, to the bandages and back up to her visor, tilted and sank with an audible sigh. It had the children laugh.

“Hey, beroya,” one of the accompanying warriors shouted from across the booth. “K’atini!” It earned him a howl of laughter from the other warrior. The hunter stayed still, then with a fist thrown into the air he cried out: “Oya manda!”

The merriment grew and when he followed her with a falter in his steps and a hanging helmet he earned more howling and catcalls. She turned around completely walking backwards and took his antics in with a shaking head.

Less amused she addressed the remaining warriors: “On the lower level you will find accommodations. Bunks, fresher and so on. Have a look and tell me what is missing. The little ones should get some rest while we are in hyper.”

-*-*-*-

She was sitting and waiting, once in a while a sigh left her helmet. The fear of losing the man she secretly adored knotted her guts. She didn’t allow herself to think of loss as it made hot tears shoot into her eyes.

He was still lying on his side, his broad chest moving with a regular breathing. His bloodied flight suit bunched around his hips, her ship’s pilot had pulled the stiffening fabric over the hip bone without further ado. His groin and part of the upper thigh had got exposed. A small area with dark coarse hair was visible and she stared at the red tained skin.

She felt the blush rising as she realised what she was staring at and she barely dared to breathe. She needed something to distract her but she felt no muscle in her body move. Instead her eyes roamed over the patched area, rippling muscles hidden beneath, up to his immense hands, also died in drying blood, along the muscular arms and the wide set shoulders. She remembered the growling howl he had let out as a last sign of awareness, he was a wolf – a Loth wolf.

She wanted so badly to wash evidence of his bravery away, to clean his hands, his side, but she didn’t dare to disturb him. She didn’t want him to wake up to somebody touching him without his consent. So she kept waiting by his side, watching over his pain-induced slumber.

-*-*-*-

He was glad for his helmet, that way his impish grin and blush were hidden from prying eyes. But despite his helmet the black pilot gave him the feeling to be able to see him nevertheless. When she had turned around he just knew that their eyes had met behind the visors.

So when he entered her cabin through the door she held open he felt again less cheerful. In the middle of the room he stopped, the footsteps behind him hadn’t followed. To make sure where she was he turned his helmet to look over his shoulder. The door was still open and she made no movement to close it.

She just knew how to make him uncomfortable. He shifted his weight onto his left, but the strain was too much, so he shifted back to put his weight on his right foot. His confidence seemed to fail the longer she kept standing at the door in complete silence. He knew somebody else who was able to do that – the _beroya_ who was on the run.

He harrumphed and gave his helmet a short bob sideways. This made her push off the wall she had leant against with her arms crossed in front of her chest. She sauntered closer and only stopped short of his back, standing slightly at his side to look again into his visor, his eyes.

Her voice was sweet, her words stung: “So you are the tribe’s _di’kut_?”

Helplessly he shrug his shoulder: “ _Uj'koor?_ If you want to see me as one. … And as long as helps the foundlings to feel better and forget sooner!” He found his voice growing stronger again. “And if it helps you to find a smile too, then I gladly am the tribe’s idiot!”

He could feel her go rigid behind him. When she answered him her voice held some guilt: “I’m sorry, you are right. It is good for the small ones. You don’t need to be for me though, I don’t need to smile.”

He turned round and faced her: “Everyone deserves a smile now and again.” He didn’t know if she had smiled at his last remark but she was quite and maybe thoughtful for a few moments. Then she nodded at the bandages.

He knew what she was hinting at and he didn’t like it. Well, truth was he did like it, but not under these circumstances: treating wounds and in a room with an open door.

He reached out and grumbled: “Thank you, I can do it myself.” Now she bobbed her helmet comically at him and he heard the grin in her words: “That I want to see,” and she handed him the contents of her hand.

He grumbled even more, this was not the way how he want things to go. “At least close the door … please.”

He had her surprised. “What for, there is no one, everyone is on the lower level or in the med bay.”

He felt bashful all of a sudden and his voice turned to a low murmur: “I know it’s ... still … Please.”

He hadn’t meant to let so many emotions drift into his voice, but they were even for the vocoder too much to filter them completely. He was a competent fighter, skilful in different ways of fighting, a dexterous tracker and sniper. But he was completely incompetent in how to deal with others, especially with women and even more so with women of such a raw and ever-changing temper.

When she bobbed the helmet again at him he knew that she was soundlessly laughing. He didn’t know what he should feel: hurt – she was making fun of his insecurities, proud and happy – he had made her laugh. It was something in between.

He slumped down in the chair and felt defeated until he saw her closing the door. He let go of a sigh of relief and when she came closer and quietly said: “I understand.” he was only able to nod weakly. This women cost a lot of strength which he didn’t seem to have at the moment.

He didn’t stir for exactly this moment of realisation before he placed patches and bandages on the small table. A moment of complete silence before she moved to sit on the other chair, so close that their knees almost touched. A moment of quietness before he started to peel off his gloves.

He took a moment to see her outstretched hand and then place his gloves in them. He watches as she placed them neatly on the table and stretched out her hand again. He smiled softly and worked on his vambraces and after that on his pauldrons.

Each item was received and reverently placed on the table. His chest plate and with it his back plate came next and where he had problems she reached over and helped him. He had to swallow, this gave him a homelike and domestic feeling: “ This is … I mean … I’ve never …

He looked down at the feeling of warmth spreading on his knee’s outer side. With he undoing and reaching over of his armour their knees had connected. She didn’t seemed irritated by this as her helmet was still questioningly looking at him. And suddenly she was waiting for him to continue with the flak vest.

Clumsily he tried to reach over to undo it and it was just his luck that he had to reach with his hurt shoulder. An impatient hiss swished through his modulator and she got off the chair and went to his side. After a moment of hesitation she delicately knelt down and reached for the closing mechanism. Her helmet came up asking for permission.

She moved from kneeling to standing next to him and deftly his flak vest was removed. Without giving him time for further qualms she nestled at his flight suit and pulled it over his shoulders and down his arms – maybe a bit further than necessary.

After their initial skirmish she was quite caring and understanding. In a quiet and careful manner she assisted him and he realized these movements were part of her, something internal and instilled. Her body moved with muscle memory.

Now he was sitting in front of her with his torso exposed to the cold of the ship and her scrutinizing gaze. He wondered what she saw and if she approved. He knew what he would see: a patchwork of old scars and new wounds and bruises.

“Quite a collection,” she quipped and with that she had him laughing.

“Good, let me get to work and you can pull up your shirt before I get into your pants.” Her voice sounded dead serious and it was gasping for air.

Still dumbfounded he just watched her but his whole body had gone rigid, every single muscle coiled to spring any moment. She was still chortling when she tended to his shoulder. She was quick about it and he couldn’t think of anything else than what would happen after she was done with it.

She collected herself to say in a soothing voice which reach his ear as a purr: “Now be good, stand up for me.” He was in a trance and his body reacted – had already. Vigorously ashamed he vehemently shook his head and croaked. “Can’t!”

This gave him a curious tilt: “Can’t or won’t?”

“Both, ” his voice betrayed him further.

“Forgot your briefs?” she had to giggle at her own joke.

“No,” he growled.

“Muscles?” she inquired.

How should he explain. It hadn’t been her fault at all and yet, she had caused it. She had been treating his wounds. Her hands hadn’t lingered. Her fingers hadn’t explored unnecessary areas. And still he was on fire, rigid and – hardening – he was mortified.

“Man – my fault. _Ni ceta.”_

This got him a full body check: “ _K'lamot di'dunla._ I understand. Stand up and unbuckle. Or I’ll do it for you!”

He all but squeaked: “NO!”

“Don’t be so maidenly. It is not like I get in your briefs. I can turn around until you sit again.”

“Would you feel differently if the roles were reversed?” he shot at her.

There came the tilt again, this time to the other side. She was thinking: “Maybe. But I gave you an alternative.”

He tilted he head far back and moaned.

“You keep that moaning up and I really might get ideas,” there was this tease again in her voice.

His head snapped back and he grumbled: “Fine. Turn.”

He was very fast in undoing his belt, pulling down the suit to his knees, massing together the sleeves and draping them over the reason for his discomfiture. “Done.”

He couldn’t form words longer than one syllable anymore and shut his mouth tight. As soon as her hands came into contact with his thigh it started trembling out of its own will. He wished it to be over and he longed for it to take longer.

His fingers curled round the chair’s arms until his joints popped. He was almost completely undressed in front of someone he was still to consider a stranger. But he felt drawn to this stranger whose sensuous shape he could only guess under the armour. The same stranger who had stabbed him was now treating his injuries.

This very stranger could now see his body littered with scars and his quivering muscles exposing each motion his helmet hid. His answers were so short and pressed through clenched teeth that even he couldn’t understand them.

“Be steady, I won’t do nothing I haven’t done with the shoulder.”

“Trying.”

“How about I give you something you can really tremble over.”

“What?”

“I could stab you again.”

“No. Thanks.” This had him snort once.

“How about I punch into the holes I made.”

“No. Thanks.” Another snort.

“I could stomp you your toes.”

“No. thanks.” He realized what she was doing.

“What about I shoot you with the blaster?”

“NO!” She was distracting him.

“And what if I pulled up the helmet far enough to kiss you?”

“WHAT?”

“Done. You can dress again. I’ll leave you to it.” She didn’t even look at him as she left the cabin and closed the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vod: mate, comrade  
> kov'nyn: Keldabe kiss  
> beroya: bounty hunter  
> K’atini: Suck it up! It is only pain!  
> Oya manda: Expression of Mandalorian solidarity and perpetuity: emotional and assertive.  
> Di’kut: idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)  
> Uj'koor : Optimistic reply on having an agreement, like "Sweet", "Deal", "You got it"  
> K'lamot di'dunla: "Apology accepted" (lit. "Rise, forgiven")


	12. Blue is to be earned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wounds need to be treated, but some wounds are beyond treatment;  
> quite fluffy and probably tissue heavy at the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wound treatment, not too descriptive, yet if blood is a trigger, be careful
> 
> songlist  
> 1) ayreon - The source will flow https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I68L003gYJ0  
> 2) (of course for Paz' treatment) blackmore's night - beyond the sunset https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kco_TGz5sQA  
> 3) (Her revelations) Samuel Barber - Adagio for strings https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=izQsgE0L450

She held back the laugh she felt rising in her throat at the pitiful picture of a Mandalorian warrior she left in her cabin. Never would she have though him to be that shy. Only when she was back in the cockpit and had closed its door she allowed the snicker that had accompanied her all the way to turn into a cackle.

Even if he tried to get even with her after this stunt, it was worth the laugh. While still giving in to this merriment she flipped through the star charts. The more pressing problem was where to go with the covert gone.

It would not concern her so much, but it was an essential problem for the remnant of the covert. She would take them where they wanted to go. If it were to take a longer period of time they would have to see to their provisions and get more if need be.

There were a few locations which were totally out of question – those too closely related to either of the fractions of the war, and those completely destroyed by the war.

There were only a few left which were worth considering. Those habitable enough and with only loose connections to the war and its parties. In some cases only half a world was left suitable enough.

She would give them a choice of possibilities and time to decide. Meanwhile they could do some jumping and stopping on low-radar worlds. The course to the first one on the Outer Rim was set. They wouldn’t like Ossus very much. But they were not meant to stay there.

Going through her options had her sobering down, but her thoughts went back to the Mandalorian who was probably still licking his wounds of pride in her cabin, at least she hadn’t heard the opening mechanism of the door.

 _Would you feel differently if the roles were reversed_ – she thought about it in earnest. First she denied, being wounded and getting treatment was essential, natural, nothing to fret about. _But why had he reacted like this then? Why had his body reacted like this then?_

She came to the conclusion that he had possibly lacked company and intimacy, after all she hadn’t seen that many female warriors in the covert – and now there were only two left in the ship: one with Blue Wall and one down in the hull’s quarters with the children.

They would still be in hyper for a considerate amount of time. She would see after both, a last check on the systems and she decided to active some of the various scramblers just to be on the safe side, and then she made for the lower part of the ship.

They were all huddled in and most of the children slept in a heap of arms and legs dangling over another. It was a peaceful picture if it hadn’t been for the circumstances. She quietly watched them before she turned and softly knocked at the other compartment’s open door.

She was bade in. The two Mandalorians had rearranged the containers and boxes and created spheres of privacy. With two of the smallest children they presented the picture of a resting family. And it struck her, the similar coloured armour. The Armourer had sent a couple to care for the children. She had to swallow. Even in their destruction they had managed to keep up the picture of a tribe, if not more, of a family.

To not disturb the small ones, one of the maroon warriors followed her outside and she related her plans to him. Listing up the options of planets she sent him back with the request to talk to his _riduur_. She got bold in her assumption, but she wasn’t corrected.

Her next stop was the med bay. Again she knocked, respecting the obvious privacy this tribe held above all. There was no answer, but the door was opened quietly. The red armoured healer motioned her in and they talked with hushed voices.

Before she informed the healer as she had done with the couple, she checked on Blue Wall. He was still in a state of sleep or unconsciousness. His immense prone form was breathing regularly.

She carefully peeked under the bandages and despite the fast working Kolto and the additional Bacta his laceration had obviously kept on bleeding for some time. By now it had stopped and this was what had been most pressing. The shot had torn through some major vessel and what else.

Fact was, without treatment he would have simply bled out. And looking at the healer she got the notion that she wouldn’t have liked that, to say the least.

With the tank of the covert out, there was only one left to check on, who, she hoped, had got so much of a grip on himself to pull up his suit again by now. This green-blue warrior - duty and loyalty were his colours – was somewhat strange and yet familiar to her. She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t help and compare him to the warrior whose colour had represented duty.

The smile that had spread thinking of the skittish behaviour fell. And she faltered in her steps halfway between med bay and her cabin. She stood there for a moment before she resumed her way to her quarters.

Just before opening the door she remembered that it would be wise to announce her presence. This was something she wouldn’t get used to that easily.

Even during the first weeks joining the Shegs and Denx there had never been the question of wearing the helmet or not. Their duty towards the Resol'nare was fulfilled with wearing and caring for their armour, wearing their helmets when not among themselves was a matter of course. They didn’t have to belong to one clan or even family to be able to remove their helmets. They were Mandalorians, that was enough. Her knock was met by an unmodulated “Not ready. Wait, please.” So her intuition hadn’t deceived her.

The resident of her room had needed and used the time alone to remove his helmet. His natural voice was a low-toned, rich baritone, vivid in the display of emotions, calming as the murmur of a brook – he had a special way to form, to intonate and phrase the vowels and a hair-rising effect, as the growl of a Corellian Sand Panther, in the way he rolled the R.

The door opened enough to let her slip through, of the man she only saw his hand curled around the lock. As soon as she had entered the door was pushed close again. She had to turn to see him and was taken aback. Although his lower part of his suit and the utility belt hugged his hips again his torso was bare.

 _Maybe not that shy_ \- she thought but he put her right. His head hung as he confessed: “Couldn’t … get it back on … shoulder’s too … stiff.”

She bit back a laugh: “How did you get it on in the first place,” she wondered.

“Paz.” He was back to short words.

“Shall I help?” It was just a rhetorical question when she looked at his state of barely being half dressed. Still she didn’t want it to make it too easy on him.

“Yes … please.” Again there was this hanging helmet and she realized that it was hard to resist.

This time she let her eyes roam. She didn’t linger unnecessary long, she just took her time. Having scars was normal with the hard and unforgiving lifestyle most of the warriors led. What she interested was the way he acquired them.

Before stepping around him she took stock of what she saw besides the rippling muscles of his abdomen and the muscles of his broad chest and wide shoulders. As far as she could tell he was a stunning appearance, powerful yet lean. And he had been on the receiving side in battles.

Several blaster shots, some cuts and carvings from blades she noted on his front. His back didn’t look much better she noted as she helped him carefully into his suit. Most noticeable was the rough skin of a rather large burn mark down his left shoulder.

While he closed up his suit she readied the flak vest. He slipped into it and it was somehow just natural that she buckled and closed the gadgets. She also helped him with the Beskar plates protecting his back and front.

She noted how more and more relaxed he became with each piece of armour back in its place. And he made no move to complete the process himself. So she kept going, with his vambraces and pauldrons.

She adjusted the chair and with the hint of pressure on his shoulders he sat down. She didn’t know if he was watching her and what he saw. She simply concentrated on the still familiar task and her hands attached the cuisses with the help of muscle memory.

When she was done she just stood there, watching and waiting.

-*-*-*-

He felt dizzy and it took him some time to recollect where he was – on the light frighter. He felt weak beyond description and he vaguely remembered how he had got shot – the evacuation of the covert and the troopers who got him as he was wheeling the speeder into the shuttle. He feared that if he had to get up he wouldn’t be able to make it to the door.

He felt stiff and sore. Under the blanket he let his hand roam along his body, figuring out where the dull pain came from. He found his side in patches and bandages. Slowly he peeled the layer back.

Then he looked at the covered damage. The most striking colours were the whites of the coverings and the dried crimson, which coloured his hand and his side, and the red of an armour. She was still sitting on the stool, her body curled up on the lower half of the cot and apparently asleep as the tiniest of soft snores escaped her helmet.

He didn’t realize the smile that had spread over his face until his cheeks hurt. But the longer he looked down the more he became aware of how low riding his suit was, it barely covered his modesty.

He started to softly shift, but it was enough to let the red helmet rise. He had woken her.

She seemed to be as disorientated at first as he had been, but seemed to be quick to recall her whereabouts and her patient.

Her hands immediately went to his side, the bandages: “We need to check and put new patches on.” He knew it was due. “And we should get you cleaned up somewhat.” That was new.

If he had known what to say and how to react he would have done and said something – anything. She took his silence as affirmation and carefully peeled everything off io his closing gash. It looked too nasty for a simple slug hit. Then he remembered the whining sound of a ricochet and chuckled angrily.

She looked at him questioningly as she couldn’t understand his train of thoughts. He felt the need to explain: “Heavy infantry and I get hit in the most unlikely spot by a ricochet.” She just nodded and started cleaning the wound again.

The burning sensation was bearable, he repeatedly told himself, while his fist closed round the sheets. She didn’t immediately patch up his open side, but she left her position and his vision for a moment. He heard water splashing into a sink and when she came back she had a bowl and a cloth in her hands.

With her boot she pulled the stool more to the middle of the cot and sat down. The bowl was balanced in her lap and she dipped the cloth several times in and wrung it out. She reached out with both hands and hesitated. A few drops fell to the floor as she waited for his permission, he heard the tiny sound. As he looked at her visor he wished he could see her for real, and he nodded.

It had a mesmerizing effect to watch her clean his hands. An indecent part of him was glad that somewhere on the shuttle he had pulled off his gloves. He knew she wouldn’t stop there and he promised himself to relish it.

He let his eyes close and his other senses take over.

She smelt of metal, leather and medical treatments and something more flowery – he would have to ask her, someday. Her hands, he squinted at them, yes her pure hands, were cool and soft. There was a tenderness in the way one hand held his while the other slowly stroke and dabbed at his calloused skin, followed the lines in his palm.

She wrung out the cloth and the bowl slowly turned a pinkish colour.

When she took hold of his hand again it was palm against palm. He slowly closed his hand loosely around hers. Holding, relishing, cherishing, savouring each touch, his breath came with each slow stroke of the cloth cleaning his hand

His hand was placed carefully on the bed and he heard the soft splashing of the water again. The colour changing its shade.

She began high on his ribcage where his biceps didn’t cover it. His hand wandered on the sheet until it found her knee pressed against the cot. Just his fingertips sought the contact and he felt her warmth beneath the fabric of her trousers.

Her hand moved to his small ribs, his muscles slowly tensed as he exhaled deeply. After a moment she went on, carefully around his side patting ever so slightly.

After more splashing and wringing the cloth brushed over his loin, again his muscles strained. A cool hand was placed on his suit where it stopped to cover his upper thigh and the cloth was caressed over his hips and down his thigh.

A coolness spread where the cloth and her hand had been. Again more splashing and the soft clink of the bowl being placed onto the stool. The hand on his thigh re-took its place and he felt the soft tug. He let his weigh shift him a little forward. The cloth roamed his back upwards in slow circles.

He heard her shift to the bowl again. And there was her hand again on his thigh softly pushing at him. He shifted back and he came to lie more on his back. The tug at his thigh told him when to stop.

The cloth was cleaned and wrung. Her hand softly pulled off his arm of this chest moved to his shoulder and remained there. He let go of his deep inhale as if it were his last. The cloth wandered over his collarbones and slowly over his chest leaving a cooling trail of dampness.

He was relaxing into her touch as she continued along the sternum and his rip bow. When the cloth made contact with his abdomen and groin he stopped breathing and his muscles twitched for a second.

Her hand paused and with a deep inhale he willed his muscles go lax. Slowly the circling cloth resumed and went back to his side.

The soft tug told him to shift forward again. With an exhale resembling a sigh he moved and opened his eyes again. The stained cloth was placed over the rim of the bowl containing the reddened water and the red healer was busy securing the dressing.

Her hands lingered next to the bandages as he slowly shifted to lie more on his back. He felt her fingers tracing his skin with his movement. He slid his hands under hers, curling his fingers over her palms and ever so slightly tugging at the underside of her wrists, then forearms as his fingers crawled further up.

She moved quietly to his soft prodding. His curled fingers pulling her insistently upwards where his palms cupped her elbows. It itched his side when he lifted his head but she read his intention, placed her hands flat against his chest and came to meet him.

 _The second_ _kov'nyn –_ he thought, a kiss without being a kiss, a sensation without touch, a promise and a longing. _“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum_ ,” his sonorous voice was hardly a breath. “However long forever turns to be. I’m yours.”

But she had listened and heard, her fingers pressed against his chest as she confessed: “ _Ner kar’ta ti gar tome._ However long forever turns to be. I’m yours. _”_

He didn’t break their intimate moment and she slowly melded against him. As he reached for the blanket she settled completely on the cot and he covered them both.

-*-*-*-

He had really tried to get into the arms of his flight suit and heave it over his shoulders, he just couldn’t manage. Paz was in the med bay not to be bothered. He resigned and waited, she would be back he knew. After all, this was her cabin.

He didn’t have to wait too long when there was a knock and he opened the door for her. Her reaction to his half naked state was unreadable. And he was glad he hadn’t to plead, she offered to help him.

This time he was prepared to feel her hands. Mostly there was fabric between their skins, but even that gave him a tingle. His mind was reeling, he had to tell her about his curiosity. He didn’t want to, he didn’t want to lose her trust and a tiny section of his mind told him that he would again fare not well under her wrath. But it was not honourable to keep it from her – even if she never found out.

When she was done gearing him up she just stood in front of him and waited. Just like him, he waited for the right words to come to him.

“The ship is huge. Thank you for what you are doing.” He knew he was avoiding what he needed to say.

“It didn’t belong to me initially, I inherited it.” He couldn’t decipher her tone or mood, he needed to prod deeper.

“If it’s not too … I’d like to … I mean as we are stuck together …” He scratched the back of his neck and shifted uncomfortably.

He feared for a second that she would leave, but she just pulled a chair to sit and he noted that in the way he could sit opposite her the desk would be in his view – the desk with the still blinking holo disc.

She waited until he had taken the other chair and eased himself into it. “I think it is the easiest to go back in time. The past eight or nine years I was a bounty hunter. I didn’t join a guild, but I worked as a freelancer. Throughout the years I could pick my clients and bounties and more or less did what I wanted. But I tried to keep a low profile. “

“Do you think we have ever met, like unintentionally?” He rummaged through his memory in search of a black cloaked hunter or the rumours of another Mandalorian hunter.

“I don’t think so. I think I would have heard of a hunter wearing Beskar.” She shook her head slightly as she dismissed the idea.

Her hesitancy told him that she was also stalling, but out of different reasons. “You did have the ship by then?”

“Yes, I had been part of its crew for about five years before I turned hunter again.”

“You fought against the empire,” he more or less stated, as he remembered what she had mentioned back in the covert.

“Yes, … well … ok.” – she inhaled deeply and leant back in the chair. “The crew I belonged to were Jurann and Mayh Sheg, it was their ship and they already started with the alterations. Somewhere on the road Denx Duanuawr joined and then I. I could shoot, and was a good tracker, a seeker. Originally we hunted but somehow the war pulled us in and it left me with the ship.”

“They were killed in Yavin?” He knew he was pushing her.

“Yes. We got grounded and surrounded. And … the Imps got Mayh … and Jurann wanted to get her alone … but of course we didn’t … we got separated … I got separated … and … when I came to again … I had to … look for them … they …didn’t … they had sprung the trap … and I … “ The time ticked away and she remained silent. Only her heaving chest indicated that she was actually alive.

“You and Denx …?” He let the question hang there. First she only nodded and he kept waiting.

“Denx and I … we … “ He heard her struggling.

“Your _riduur_?” He was slightly confused when she first nodded and then shook her head.

“Not yet … we were about to … say the vows. He wanted to … he made a holo … I couldn’t … I can’t … .“ He literally watched her fall to pieces with every word and he wanted it to stop. He nodded towards the desk and she just nodded.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t say no more. I …” He was interrupted as she got out of the chair and walked over to the desk. When she took the disc he jumped up. She came closer with it and switched it on. Just like he had, only the optical display. Her voice was shaking: “I’ve never got further than that. I just couldn’t .. I can’t …”

He desperately wanted to distract her. She was in the same state as in the covert where he had woken up to her apology.

“Just … Just before we were taken out … he had mentioned it … as a surprise. … he wanted to settle down … after … I’d never been there … he had found it … it became … I set up the pyres there.”

She was shaking so badly that he took her arm and led her back to the chair.

“That is why he is not wearing a helmet?” He decided he wouldn’t tell her, not now, maybe later.

“We were aliit … a family. We weren’t as strict as you are.”

He nodded, understanding and – he scolded himself for it – hoping.

“Maybe one time you can listen to it – him. We both have lost so many. _Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_ …“ He was struck by the truth of his words.

“ _Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_ … Jurann … Mayh …Denx.“ Her voice too low for the vocoder, but he didn’t need to hear, he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mirshmure'cya: Keldabe Kiss  
> Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum: I love you eternally/forever  
> Ner kar’ta ti gar tome: My heart is together with you  
> Riduur: spouse, partner, husband/wife  
> aliit: family, clan  
> Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum: Daily remembrance of those passed on *I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.* Followed by repetition of loved ones' names.


	13. Blue is what makes a clan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a revelation, a consolation and a foreign planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist  
> 1) kamelot - a sailorman's hymn https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwGYRYCa1MA  
> 2 ) Ashley Serena & Ryan Louder - In your arms  
> 3) kamelot - karma https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exS-YFyiKZU  
> 4) (confrontation) Warlock - All we are https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SX-_-4yBFIg

It tore her apart and at the same time talking about it, talking to him about it felt good. He gave her the time she needed, he didn’t press but helped along. When the words lost her showing him was the less painful thing she could do.

He had wanted to stop her, but she wanted him to see and to understand. But she had so much left out. _Did he really understand_ – she wondered. They had both lost their families, beloved ones. And even through the modulator she heard his pain, as he could hers. Maybe he did understand.

The suggestion to listen to the holo, to him, was a thought she couldn’t bear. Even watching only the tiniest glimpse made her lose her mind. Time did not heal.

There was only one thing to solace her, he hadn’t been taken aback at seeing the face of a Mandalorian he didn’t know. His comment had been one of appreciation, as if he had known what they had shared.

He had said the words of remembrance, initiated them and she had repeated them. He hadn’t added any names, he had left it to be her tribute to the dead. He had held her arm and had never let go throughout this moment. And not thereafter.

And she had gripped his in return. It steadied her, consoled her, helped her to cling to her sanity.

She couldn’t recall at which point her other hand had sought his arm. Her hands clasped around his vambrace-clad forearms. What her mind was slowly processing was that his bent over standing form lowered on his good knee and she wordlessly gazed into the slightly upward titled counterpart.

“I kept them.” Her vocoder cackled more than transport her words and his body language told her he hadn’t understood. With a nod to one of the lockers, she repeated and letting go of his arms she reached to put the code in her vambrace.

-*-*-*-

When he felt her other hand seek his arm a soft hint of joy at being able to stabilize her quivered through his heart. Her grip was hard where her fingers were able to meet flesh beneath the fabric.

The froze in this moment until his back ached and he went to a knee before here. He watched her closely. He recognized the still form and knew only the fabric around her neck kept the salty drops from being seen.

Her modulator distorted whatever she had said, only when she said it the second time he understood the words, their meaning momentarily lost to him. She wanted to show him something and he let go of her arms, however, unwillingly.

The mechanical click of unlocking made him turn his head, then his body – it was a locker behind him. Her head indicated him to move to it, so he did. Lifting from his knee, walking over, opening the door of the lockers, and seeing its content. He was steered, puppet-like and he knew his curiosity would kill him a second time.

Three shelves, three sets of armour, two sets a dark blueish - orange colour, one set in dark green, all sets in dark brown dirt. No, not dirt – dark brown dried blood.

The damages done to the sets told about the fate their bearers had faced. And the tale was horrible. If the armours already looked like that he didn’t want to imagine what those who had worn them had looked like and that she had to witness it burying them.

“That’s …,” he couldn’t think of a proper word, “… horrible”.

By all she had said, indicated, he was sure about one thing: “It was not your fault.” He turned and tried to sound convincing. He tried hard to keep out the rawness and shock at the sight he had just been – allowed. He tried hard to put in a consoling and soothing tone to calm them both. This had been her friends, her family and her beloved.

He didn’t get any response, neither in words nor in body language. He went back to the frozen woman and knelt again between her knees, then he held out his arms again and waited until she accepted his offer and they spent the moments in silence, holding onto each arms again.

He didn’t know how long they would spend in hyperspace, he hoped it would be enough for her and him to get some rest. His resolve was unshakably even though he didn’t know where he took the self-assurance from.

Slowly rising he pulled her up with him and with slow steps he manoeuvred her towards the bed. Her step were unsure, faltering, yet she let him guide her. Their arms still connected he used simple soft tugs and pulls until he made her sit down on the bed.

With a last tug he suggested to her to lie down, then he went down on his knee again and let go of his grip. Her arms just fell unto her lap and bent down and undid her boots. After he had set them aside he lifted her ankles and shifted them onto the bed. She was still in a sitting position. He softly put his hands on her shoulders, his touch just a hint until she sank back onto the sheet.

His world tumbled in a reeling mess as her hand clutched onto his wrist. He reached back with the other and pulled the closest chair over. Sitting was a good idea now. As she rolled over facing away from him her hand tugged at his wrist.

Carefully, measuring if he was reading correctly he sat on the edge of the bed. Another tug.

He reclined resting his weight on his elbow. Another tug.

It was irksome to undo the boots, it would have been something to make her laugh, but she didn’t see, her visor was turned away. Another tug.

He lowered himself onto the mattress. Her fingers wandered along the back of his hand, then her fingers interlaced with his.

It was some time until he could tell that her breathing had got deeper and regular, only then he closed his eyes and let himself drift into sleep.

-*-*-*-

Something hard bore into her side and she shifted to loosen the poking sensation. Blindly she patted around, taking in the metal - Beskar, the fabric – flight suit, the soft rigidness – muscles under flesh.

Her move was answered with a tightening sensation around her back to her waist. Then she felt some explorative patting being done, along her waist her back, her shoulders.

They both rose their heads, their visors met and they both congealed. They both retracked the events that resulted in them ending up aligned in bed with their limbs entangled.

As comfortable and natural as it seemed it sent them both through a wave of embarrassment. She heard him clear his throat before the sleepy “ _Vaar'tur”_ greeted her. She heard and felt him yawn and when he stretched languidly she felt his form move under her where her body was draped over his and his arm pressed her more to himself.

He chuckled at his shamelessly normal reaction but he was also quick to release her from the pressure of his arm and he let it fall onto the sheets.

She more or less jumped over him to come standing next to the bed: “Sorry,” was all she could press out.

“Don’t be. Please.” He was quiet for some time while she glared down at him. “I wouldn’t have if … Sorry.” She heard the thickness in his voice. “But I’m not.” There it was again, that lowered helmet that spoke of, what was it this time. Definitely not defeat. Embarrassment or shame, maybe. She didn’t want to know and left.

Soon the ship’s alarm would ring as they wear nearing their first destination, she needed to prepare their arrival.

Back in the cockpit she went through her routine and as predicted the ship’s alarm rang out. It would have everybody on board awake. The first she could hear of course was her roommate. She quickly went back to the lounge area and introduced him to the kitchen devices. There were a lot of hungry mouths to feed and he would be busy this way.

As she checked in on Ossus she made certain that she could use one of the outpost hangars. Her explanation was credible enough. Once there she would refill the ship and head out to the place she actually wanted to go.

Despite Ossus’ affiliation to both sides, it had become really quiet after the Fall of the Empire. If one knew where to go to find what they needed it could be even a quite convenient place to hang out for a while.

But with its role in the war she was sure that the members of the other tribe would be too happy to leave as soon as possible.

The landing, re-filling of the ship and its relocation went neatly and very much unobserved by the new crew. Some too young, some too busy and some still too taken out to care. When she finally went to the common area to tell them that they would rest there for a short time their curiosity took over.

She informed the couple of possible dangers and instructed when to retreat to the ship. Then she helped with setting up a small camp just outside the ship. It would give the children of the tribe the possibility to stretch their legs. To the green-blue warrior she described a game which he could hunt for a supply of fresh meat. As the healer and Blue Wall hadn’t appeared yet she left them out of her preparations.

The ship would be safe until she returned and she didn’t want any of them to follow. Even though she had been more or less welcomed to their tribe out of necessity, she was sure about what to expect of the tribe here and what their reaction would be on hearing her terms.

-*-*-*-

He liked the idea of a hunt, but he didn’t like the planet and he didn’t like her idea of going somewhere alone.

It was not what she had said, but what she hadn’t said. The meticulous preparations she had done, the intensive instructions she had given and – and he started to swear at his own blindness – the thorough explanations she had given him on the ship’s systems.

A bitter feeling started, spreading all along from his mouth down into his guts. And it was accompanied by dreading fear. If she took the speeder there was no chance for him to do what he wanted to do.

Admittedly it was his curiosity that wanted to follow her, but there was also this nameless nagging that made following her an obligation.

He disappeared long enough in the hull of the ship for her to forget about him, and he watched her walking off. He hadn’t seen her with the long rifle strapped to her back yet and it made her decision just fiercer and his justification more solid.

In the distance he could barely see her, but he didn’t have to, there was still the tracking system of his HUD if he should lose her. But getting closer would have meant she could see him the easier too. Something he didn’t want to risk.

It took him the longer part of the day to track after her. And after several standard hours he admired her stealth. Her way had routed past a few settlements, however tiny, and kept them to unobserved terrain.

It was still some time to the planet’s sunset when she seemed to have reached her destination as she sat down and started to prepare a camp. Or maybe she just meant to turn in early for another day of tramping.

All this didn’t matter when he could make out that the by now familiar dark helmet was replaced by a dark copper. He plumped flat on his backside. Seeing a Mandalorian take off their helmet outside their protected home was a concept completely alien to him. She had mentioned that she and her crew had been less limited, but this.

Still, he was drawn to the scene and he remembered the strands coiled up in his breast pocket. Subconsciously he reached for it.

Mentally he prepared for an unknown time of waiting and used the time to take in the surroundings. Neither she nor he were seen easily and both had enough cover if the need came to defend themselves. The vegetation was sparse and not welcoming, as was the whole planet, in his opinion.

He dimly became aware that she was rising to her feet and tried to see where her gaze went. It soon became obvious. She was met by to orange armoured and helmeted Mandalorians.

Despite the fact that it were people of her creed, her whole posture told him that she was on edge even though the two newcomers also took their helmets off. The rigidness of their behaviour increased with every unheard word that was spoken, that much he could read from their body language. And he didn’t like it at all.

At one point the whole situation seemed freeze and all three came to a stand and turned to where the two foreign warriors had come from, with the black hunter in tow. Keeping his distance he followed again.

It took him longer this time to catch up. The two knew their whereabouts and he had to keep to the sparse covers.

Having to round a boulder of rocks made him lose his line of sight and what he saw when he finally caught up he stopped dead in his tracks. Several solid huts, some animals roaming around, children running around, people pursuing their daily business, people of different species – Humans, Cathars, Dathomirians, Voss, Chiss, Zabraks and others – he could distinguish their typical feature. Crafts were produced, things were mended and training was held. Nothing seemed out of place despite he was staring down on a settlement occupied by Mandalorians.

His eyes searched for the black armour and dark copper hair. Finally he saw it within a ruckus that broke out. His black pilot rolled backwards out of the crowd and came to a fighting stance, the vibroblade came flowing from the boot shaft and landed quivering between the two warriors she had followed. In a fluid motion the vamblade came out and in her left appeared a glinting war axe.

The crowd parted again and a huge man appeared, bald and aged, their _alor_. The commotion had drawn most of the village and as the leader pointed an alley of people gave a free view to the training circle turned into battle circle.

His hands were clutching his rifle with an iron grip.

-*-*-*-

She had been walking all day and the helmet didn’t help to keep the perspiration forming on her forehead and dripping into her eyes. She was glad to have finally found the meeting point they had agreed on. When she had taken off her helmet she immediately felt better with the breeze cooling off the sweat on her face.

She didn’t have to wait long for the guides to arrive. It irked her that two had been sent and when she saw the orange of the armour her rage flared up. She could barely keep her hands steady under the testing stares of the two helmets. Of all people of the tribe it had to be these two – Vas and Tiani.

Of course there had been taunts, more sophisticated this time. She had to ignore them but each added to the fire burning within, each shortening the fuse. At least they had shut their dirty mouths on the way to the current settlement.

Her _alor_ hadn’t changed much, less hair more wrinkles, but still the indomitable leader.

“So you have come back.” He had been mildly surprised to hear from her at all after so many years. The report of the destruction of the Keldab and its crew had spread like wildfire. The support of their hunter had ebbed away. Seldom as it had been before, she hadn’t come back afterwards.

“It couldn’t be helped.” She made clear that it wasn’t her explicit wish and he understood. He remembered the terms on which she had left She had almost broken the tribe apart.

“Who are those under your care.” She had told him about Nevarro and the remnant of the tribe on her ship.

“They won’t stay. I’m going to take them were _they_ want to.” His tribe could use the additional power, especially of the heavy infantry.

“It is not upon you do decide.” There she was again questioning his leadership.

“It is, I’m no longer aliit. I’m more theirs than yours!” She had renounced the tribe and gone rogue, that much was true he decided. To lose her to another clan was maybe inevitable

“The lone loser, as always. As if they would take in a rogue like you.” That sneer came from Vas. He gave him a glare. Being the possible successor had made him too bold.

“ _Ne'johaa,_ Vas!” She had never put up with either of them, a constant source of confrontations, mostly they had ended with one of the three in the med bay.

“You ran away! You threw away your clan and your loyalty! You are without purpose! Anything you touch turns to ashes! _Hut'uun_!” He wasn’t able to stop it, they were at their throats again. In the commotion that followed she had been pushed out and over. Astonished he watched her gliding up like a panther. She had honed her abilities.

“You live without honour, you may as well be dead! And you shall die as you have lived! Without Honour! Either of you or both, I don’t care!” Her voice was venom, the pulsing blade in the ground between her attackers the invoking of a vendetta. This time there would be more than blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vaar'tur: morning  
> Ne'johaa!: Shut up  
> hut'uun: coward, worst possible insult


	14. Gold is vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VERY EXPLICIT - WARNING  
> please do NOT proceed if blood, gore, wounds is not your cup of tea.  
> This is pure fighting and revenge taking.  
> You will not miss out anything, scenes included her necessary for the story will come up in chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist  
> 1) Dream Theater - Pull me under https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGRgAULYgWE  
> 2) (the orange warrior falls) paradise lost - disappear https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s8vFrZolxU4  
> 3) Pain of salvation - undertow https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n8ro066KDIM

Anybody who looked closed into her eyes and knew her could see they had turned to an bright emerald glinting. The two orange menaces of her life had of course jumped to the chance.

“It won’t take two to take you rabid Hyenax out! But we will make sure of it!” Tiana had always been his backup, alone she would have been nothing.

“You shall die – as you have lived! Without honour!” She pushed on her helmet, she was done with words. The agreements had been set – anything but blasters.

The tribe gathered around the ring, again the two parties became evident. The impact she had had on the tribe had become obvious once again. The dispute about three in the ring had been loud and it had been her to end it with final words. With this fight over, either way, the leader would have to unify the tribe again.

She had been given back her vibroblade . Her holster she had given to a tall Zabrak who had given her a sad smile. She had smiled back, grim and voraciously: “ _Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur_!”

They had been waiting for her in the ring. As soon as she entered they spread out. Her vamblade was back in its sheath within the vambrace, she held the Beskar axe in her right and the army knife in her left. The deadly dance could begin.

-*-*-*-

The two orange clad warriors entered the circle of combat. What he then saw was beyond anything he knew about circle fights and honour, she was entering the ring too, to face both of them. Only his vantage point gave him a good view of the three combatants. Soon he was fascinated by the way she moved. In their own encounter she had been limited with the narrowness of the alley and his view had been limited.

Now he could watch her freely. He observed the armament of her adversaries. The woman had two vibroblades and the male a combat staff. With concern he saw it come to life with blue electricity.

She moved slowly sideways, steps crossing, balancing her weight, slightly on her balls , slightly crouched – a panther on the prowl.

With her movement she coaxed the female warrior more towards her companion. But he anticipated her move and mirrored her action. What he didn’t see was that she was narrowing the circle.

It must have been reduced to her liking, because she started the attack. With a rollover she was over to the woman, her axe and blade slicing out. They were met by the woman’s blades. She ducked, just in time as the staff swung round to hit her in the head.

Her leg arched out and she hooked it behind the woman’s heels in a swing. The woman fought to regain her balance. Along with the twirl of her body she lashed out with a backslash and sliced at her opponent’s popliteal space. A shriek escaped the orange helmet as she went down on that knee, red liquid gushed onto the ground.

She turned away in a roll, away from Tiani and from the staff that was about to come down on her again. Rising from her move, she shove blade and axe into her belt. Something else was glistening in her hands.

Time and time again the sun reflected on objects hailing down on the lanky orange warrior. He was busy deflecting them, and she was closing in again.

He thought he could hear her growl, but that was impossible from that distance.

When she met his staff her axe was in her hand again and her vamblade was out. What he could hear were the metal sounds and what he saw were the sparks that were set off whenever the weapons met. He slowly drove her back. His strokes were strong.

He wanted to cry out a warning. She was getting too close to the still kneeling woman who suddenly lurched up. He saw her go rigid and jerk away before she went down in a roll. A fiery ball of agony rolled up his throat. This time she didn’t come up.

A couple of onlookers turned his way and he realized he had cried out. Giving up his cover he went down. It took all his will not to run, but his strides were wide. A slight limp returned as his leg took the constant impact on his way down from his lookout point.

He wanted to be down in the ring, he wanted to end this. He had been raging already while watching, now anything but sense ruled him. Whenever his left leg took his weight he clenched his teeth, the pain added to his wrath.

When he was down and nearing the circle those few who had chosen not to watch gave him a wide birth. Others standing closer were shoved away by him. Only a few steps away from the ring he was grabbed by two tribesmen, one was the tall Zabrak.

He didn’t even give them a single glance as he tried to tear off their grip. Their hands were unyielding and his hoarse shout of fuming desperation drew more audience. When his leg gave out he sank to his knees, still yanking at his captors.

He snarled as he watched her prone form and the standing warrior tried to punch down the staff into her middle. She rolled over quickly to avoid the staff that went into the ground and before the male warrior could retrieve the weapon she rolled back and further, wrenching the staff from his grip.

He didn’t know where she took the stamina from. But she was back up and at him in blur of black and falling blades. Her strikes precisely aimed at the unprotected areas, working her way down from his arms and torso to his legs until she was crouched in a deep stance.

It seemed to him that it took ages, he counted his own ragged breaths – one-two-three --- eight-nine. The orange warrior stood motionless, then a soft sway and a shudder was running through him. Even the screams of the woman in the background seemed to take ages.

Then, as if slowly pulled down by invisible powers, he fell to his knees and she moved from her crouch and hovered over him. The blades of axe and vamblade were dripping with blood. Her head slowly tilted back.

The sound turned his and all the onlookers’ blood to ice. A primal howl which started deep in her chest and turned to a volume even the vocoder finally gave in to pick up. In a spiral she came down to a crouch again as the blood splattered over her.

The shrieks of the woman turned hysterical as the helmet with its content rolled over to her. The black helmet turned towards her menacingly. As she stalked to the woman everyone only saw a panther and its forlorn prey.

The orange clad woman crawled backwards, leaving a broad trail of blood as she tried to reach the edge of the circle. Everyone beyond backed away. They could hear the growl. It was not loud but steady, it filled the air even with moments of silence as she pulled in more air.

The frantic movements stilled for a moment as the felled woman watched the black warrior pick up the helmet. Then she scrambled on leaving the circle, followed by her stalker. Feeling saved she stopped and clutched her hand at her seeping knee.

The black hunter only stopped short of standing directly over the prone woman, there she squatted and pressed the bleeding helmet into the lap of the woman beneath her.

Those standing close enough could hear her laboured breathing: “Everything you touch turns to ashes. You never had any honour.” She knew without treatment Tiana would follow Vas. But she didn’t want to wait.

She bent and pulled the woman – despite her screaming and kicking – by her legs back into the middle of the ring. Her movements were not that fluid anymore. On her way she picked up the battle staff.

He watched in fascinated horror as she threw the staff and her axe at the bleeding woman. Then she stepped back – one – two – three steps. Again time seemed to slow down to a trickle as the woman didn’t make any move for the weapons. Again the toe curling howl ripped through the audience who could have been statues as silent as they were.

Her voice sounded coarse as she screamed: “Hut’uun! Fight for your slut’s honour and your dead scum of a husband!”

This had the effect. Letting go of the helmet the orange Mandalorian heaved herself up with the help of the staff. It served her as a crutch, with her right she held the axe.

His eyes roamed along her side, he had seen the knife go in, it had found home between the protective black armour. Slowly she turned slightly and he saw it and tore at those restricting arms with more rigour.

A long shudder went through the black hunter and she slowly crouched into her fighting stance. The axe’s swing of the woman named Tiani was sluggish and weak and she deflected it with her vambrace. Stepping around she made the woman turn with a hobble. The taunts to coax the woman into fighting could only be heard within the circle.

Another wild swing she dodged. Aiming had never been Tiani’s virtue. But when the axe came back with the thorn in her direction she underestimated the distance. Shielding her chest she took it in her arm. Bone-deep it stuck. But that brought her in killing distance. Her arm shot out and the vamblade sank into the neck covered by the orange shawl.

Together the women sank to their knees and as the orange warrior fell dead backwards the axe was ripped from her arm and she was pulled with her.

The resulting pain and that she was pulled down with her opponent was beyond her ability of sentience. Her world had gone black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur: Today is a good day for someone else to die  
> hut'uun: coward, worst possible insult


	15. Gold can’t take the pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleep is the best medicine, but sometimes it it not enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter starts off with a kind of summary of chapter 14,  
> I've indicated where those who have read it should continue - or have fun with the shorter version
> 
> songlist (either this or take from cpt 14)  
> 1) pain of salvation - ashes https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xreAnQ2ao8  
> 2) nightwish - ghost love score https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4V_eoR6r1Tw  
> 3) Oomph - Brennende Liebe https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQ75n89DS_0  
> 4) Megaherz - Freiflug https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=687hMHuCqYA

**For those who didn’t skip chapter 14 please continue further down.  
For those who skipped chapter 14 the shorter form without the detailed fighting**

Anybody who looked close into her eyes and knew her could see they had turned to an bright emerald glinting. The two orange menaces of her life had of course jumped to the chance.

“It won’t take two to take you rabid Hyenax out! But we will make sure of it!” Tiana had always been his backup, alone she would have been nothing.

“You shall die – as you have lived! Without honour!” She pushed on her helmet, she was done with words. The agreements had been set – anything but plasters.

The tribe gathered around the ring, again the two parties became evident. The impact she had had on the tribe had become obvious once again. The dispute about three in the ring had been loud and it had been her to end it with final words. With this fight over, either way, the leader would have to unify the tribe again.

She had been given back her vibroblade. Her holster she had given to a tall Zabrak who had given her a sad smile. She had smiled back, grim and voraciously: “ _Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur_!”

They had been waiting for her in the ring. As soon as she entered they spread out. Her vamblade was back in its sheath within the vambrace, she held the Beskar axe in her right and the army knife in her left. The deadly dance could begin.

-*-*-*-

The two orange clad warriors entered the circle of combat. What he then saw was beyond anything he knew about circle fights and honour, she was entering the ring too, to face both of them. Only his vantage point gave him a good view of the three combatants. Soon he was fascinated by the way she moved. In their own encounter she had been limited with the narrowness of the alley and his view had been limited.

Now he could watch her freely. He observed the armament of her adversaries. The woman had two vibroblades and the male a combat staff. With concern he saw it come to life with blue electricity.

She moved slowly sideways, steps crossing, balancing her weight, slightly on her balls , slightly crouched – a panther on the prowl.

The fight was only a dance on her side. For the female Mandalorian was quickly disabled due to a cut in the hollow of her knew which kept her from getting up and re-joining the fight. The fight with the male warrior took longer. His strength and his staff gave him an advantage, and there was still his companion.

He wanted to cry out a warning. She was getting too close to the still kneeling woman who suddenly lurched up. He saw her go rigid and jerk away before she went down in a roll. A fiery ball of agony rolled up his throat. This time she didn’t come up.

A couple of onlookers turned his way and he realized he had cried out. Giving up his cover he went down. It took all his will not to run, but his strides were wide. A slight limp returned as his leg took the constant impact on his way down from his lookout point.

He wanted to be down in the ring, he wanted to end this. He had been raging already while watching, now anything but sense ruled him. Whenever his left leg took his weight he clenched his teeth, the pain added to his wrath.

When he was down and nearing the circle those few who had chosen not to watch gave him a wide birth. Others standing closer were shoved away by him. Only a few steps away from the ring he was grabbed by two tribesmen, one was the tall Zabrak.

Even though she got hurt she didn’t give up. She had more weapons than just the blades and the axe and she used them. The orange clad warrior didn’t stand a chance and fell dead.

The shrieks of the woman turned hysterical and she tried to flee the circle. Her only way to end the fight, without honour but probably alive.

Those standing close enough could hear the laboured breathing of the warrior in black: “Everything you touch turns to ashes. You never had any honour.” She knew without treatment Tiani would follow Vas. But she didn’t want to wait or give her a chance.

She bent and pulled the woman – despite her screaming and kicking – by her legs back into the middle of the ring. Her movements were not that fluid anymore. On her way she picked up the battle staff.

He watched in fascinated horror as she threw the staff and her axe at the bleeding woman. Then she stepped back – one – two – three steps. Again time seemed to slow down to a trickle as the woman didn’t make any move for the weapons. Again the toe curling howl ripped through the audience who could have been statues as silent as they were.

Her voice sounded coarse as she screamed: “Hut’uun! Fight for your slut’s honour and your dead scum of a husband!”

This had the effect. Letting go of the helmet the orange Mandalorian heaved herself up with the help of the staff. It served her as a crutch, with her right she held the axe.

His eyes roamed along her side, he had seen the knife go in, it had found home between the protective black armour. Slowly she turned slightly and he saw it and tore at those restricting arms with more rigour.

A long shudder went through the black hunter and she slowly crouched into her fighting stance. Sing – dodge, swing – dodge. She got hurt again but it brought her an advantage and together the women sank to their knees and as the orange warrior fell dead backwards she was pulled with her.

The resulting pain and that she was pulled down with her opponent was beyond her ability of sentience. Her world had gone black.

-*-*-*-

**Readers of chapter 14: here it continues**

-*-*-*-

She felt the stabbing pain slice between her ribs and with every dragging breath she drew the dizziness increased. She heard herself wheeze and a metallic taste spread in her mouth. She swallowed it back. The fight was not over – not as long either of the two were alive.

The shock of rolling over the activated staff was burning down her back and the numbing feeling that spread sent a wave of panic over her – it was not over yet, they were still alive.

She couldn’t get rid of the taste of blood in her mouth.

She still sensed the impact of the axe’s thorn on her arm, but seeing her – what might be her last – chance she reacted instinctively.

Something else she couldn’t grasp was the silence, there were so many people around her – or were they statues. Was there a call, a shout, who was it for?

Sinking onto the knees with the other woman was a sensation she couldn’t fathom. She thought that she had tried to keep standing.

She tried to focus on those in her direct view. Were they really that far away? But there was this cloudiness, this wave of darkness that seemed to crash down on her.

Sleeping sounded like a good idea – the fight was over, they were no longer alive, she was … .

-*-*-*-

He tore, ripped and wrenched– his heart tore with it. The hands held his wrists and shoulders in place.

She was hurt and bleeding.

He turned and twisted – his innards twisted with it. Alone the iron hold of the Zabrak was enough to keep him in place.

She fell to her knees.

He screamed and yelled – his lung burst with it. He had no name to scream. No name to call her.

She fell onto the ground.

Again his knees gave in and he fell. The grip on his arms held him upright, in the men’s grip he stayed suspended as he screamed the only word that his brain and his heart told him: _Cyare_ – beloved on.

Slowly as if they cared if he fell prone to the ground the hands let go of him. And he lurched forward. It didn’t matter that he stumbled and scrambled back up, not even the Zabrak, as agile as he was, was to overtake him.

The last metre he slid in the bloodied sand. When the cloud of dust had settled the still struck crowd saw a green-blue clad warrior cradle the limp form of the black hunter in his arms. When he tilted his helmet back and screamed out his anguish many turned around and quietly left the training circle which had become a circle of death.

-*-*-*-

He had known her his whole life. She had been his _ad_ and he her _buir_. They were still a family.

It had hurt him when she had left, but he understood. And it had hurt him when she came back, because he knew what she had come back for.

The Zabrak bent over the foreign warrior who had coiled himself around the unconscious woman and softly pried him loose. “Let go. I can help. Let me help my _ad_.”

He could feel the man heaving under his hands: “She’s not gone. Not yet.”

With soft and assuring words he helped him up: “Help me to help her.”

The convulsed man was not really a help, but he did the best he could. Reaching here and folding limps there until the horned man with the threatening tattoos had her securely in his arms: “Follow me.”

He was fussing about her, mumbling constantly all the way to the med hut. While walking Dargak observed him closely. Something didn’t match the picture. This was not the man his daughter had told him about years ago. He didn’t know how his child – yes she was still his child, no matter how many years had gone past – reacted to this man. But it was more than obvious how he felt for her.

When he entered he wasn’t surprised that three beds had been prepared. The healers were already waiting inside. They hadn’t wanted to witness the onslaught they knew would come, they had just prepared for the worst.

“Dargak, here, the table. The others….” He shook his horned head. “But this one, if you have something to calm him or you have him fussing all around.” He kept his voice low and calm. The foreigner was already skittish enough.

“We have everything prepared. As soon as she arrived I told Ron that the time has come.” Sharjea and Ron had patched up either of the three when they still had been children. They knew what to expect

“Yes, they had it coming all these years.”

He had laid her down and turned to the other man who was pacing to and fro. Almost intercepting and catching him he pressed him down in a chair next to the wall and kept him there until Sharjea accompanied him with a syringe in her hands.

“I’d like to have your arm. The hollow of your arm. This is something to calm and strengthen you.”

The blue visor moves from him to the woman dressed in white. “I’m fine. I don’t need anything. She’s hurt. For the maker’s sake, care about her!” His voice had gotten loud and Dargak needed more strength to push him back down.

“She is being cared for. See.” He moved a step aside and let the nervous warrior see the other man dressed in white who started to undo the armour.

“NO!” Dargak’s grip couldn’t keep him. With a look telling Sharjea ‘See, I told you.’ he went after him. “Let them do their work!”

“Ron, I’m sure you need help getting the armour off, don’t my dear!” Sharjea’s voice was warm but it held a warning and the man in the white jacket agreed willingly.

“Here, stick to the boots.” Dargak bodily moved the tense man to let him fuss with the boots. Unlacing them would keep him busy and out of the way. To Sharjea he mouthed: “Less strength, more calm.” When he eyed the lean man with his trembling hands he was sure he had made the right decision.

The work seemed to calm him down to some degree. When he was done he offered his help in a flat, mechanical sounding voice and followed the instructions the healers gave him with spindly movements.

While they worked on her upper body to get off the metal plates he dislodged the cuisses. Moving her unresponsive body to peel down her flak vest and flight suit required the hands of all. It revealed her bloodied and bruised body. All colour seemed to have left it leaving her pale form in a stark contrast to the blood smeared over her.

No one spoke a word and the only noise that filled the room was the occasional clatter of metal and the rattling wheeze of her breathing. With every inhale her middle fluttered, the muscles of her abdomen labouring. Her shoulders rose with a trembling as she rasped each breath in an increasing succession.

Ron’s voice was low as he and his wife dealt with the wound most pressing. The wound that Tiani’s blade had left in her left side: “Quick. Punctured lung and diaphragm.” She nodded in assertion: “Liver likely too, the angle is quite steep. I got what we need, also the Kolto.”

With a nod she told Dargak to leave now. Her move was quite quick. It would take longer the way she had to do it, but it would work nevertheless.

The foreigner hadn’t moved much ever since he had helped to undress the woman in front of him. He had kept standing at the feet of the examination table. And he didn’t move when she put the injection in the muscle of his neck. Only his helmet slowly panned to her.

“Take him to your home, he should be still standing until then.” A knowing smile spread on the face of the Zabrak. He carefully urged the man forwards and herded him like a stunned Bantha to his hut. As promised he made it to his home before he felt the foreigner’s steps become unsteady. And although he had finally to drag his dead weight to the bed, he was thankful for the healer’s precision and her determination to save his child’s life.

He gazed down at the sleeping man and remembered her descriptions. The size would fit, but it was not a green armour. He tried to keep down the sour feeling rising up in him at the realization what it meant that there had been no Mandalorian in green accompanying her.

Her description of the crew she was running with and especially of this one warrior had risen a hope for her in him. The words she had used and more those she hadn’t, had told him of her happiness. To know that this had been taken from her made him ache all over.

But when he looked at the man on his bed, a small hope allowed itself to peek out of the ashes of today’s event. He had been bold as he came down into the village, although not that many had really seen him, their attention had been drawn to the fight.

He had heard him call out, twice even and he had watched him come down. He had seen his stride, full of determination, which even an injury couldn’t stop. He had noticed how he had shouldered his way towards the circle and he knew, he didn’t have to see, that his eyes had been full with resolve.

He had restricted him and despite his own strength which exceeded many others he had needed help to keep him from storming into the circle. Even as he had fallen to his knees and hung limp between them he had pulled at them with all strength.

This man was lying on his bed now and he wondered what he was to his daughter. What she was to this man had been obvious. His caring, his anguished cry, his trembling hands – every fibre of this man spoke of the love for his daughter.

-*-*-*-

Ron and Sharjea were drenched in blood when they were finally finished. Mending torn vessels, getting rid of surplus liquid where it didn’t belong, closing the wounds. They were drained and could only wait for the healing to take place. They watched and listened to the breathing, judging as its rattle filled the room. Side by side they stood, their hands interlaced. There was only so much they had been able to do, the rest would be up to the woman lying in front of them, on her will to live.

They would tell the _alor_ and her _buir_. Ron would go first to inform their leader. And when he was back Shajea would see her father Dargak. The man who had brought the tiny bundle to their tribe.

She remembered how the tall Zabrak had fussed over the small toddler. How often he had sought her advice on how to raise the child, how to care for her. He had agreed to care for her until she came of age. And he had done well.

The day when she had left was still fresh in her memory. Again it had been one of those days she had ended up in the med bay, but even there the infamous duo had followed her until her husband had put an end to it. She remembered the hard words that had fallen there and later when she had had the run in with the leader. Her words had been justified, but no one had moved to side her openly. This had been an open wound in the tribe ever since.

There was the slight sliver of hope that with Vas and Tiani gone peace talks could be held.

-*-*-*-

He slowly opened his eyes, his visor system adjusted to the dim light. He was lying on a bed in an unfamiliar room. He saw his armour lain out on a chair next to the door. His brain felt sloshy and he had difficulties forming coherent thoughts. Answering the simple where who what and how were the first important things.

Where was he? In a room he didn’t know, in a bed he didn’t remember to have got in.

Who did it belong to? He was alone in the sparingly furnished and decorated room.

How had he got here? He couldn’t remember. He had been walking and then nothing.

Why had he been walking and where to? Had he been invited? What had actually happened? His eyes searched for any indication.

Slowly he rose and set his feet on the ground. It was cool and he saw that his boots were missing, too. He looked around and, yes these were his boots. He pulled them on and pushed himself off of the frame of the bed. He groaned at the dizziness in his head and the foul taste in his mouth.

He went to the door and opened it to a quite spacious common area. One corner was designated to a kitchen, a table and several chairs. Another corner seemed to be a kind of living room with comfortable chairs and a couch.

In one of the chairs somebody sat. The light of the datapad in his hands lit up his face, highlighting the red and black of his forehead and cheeks. Yellow eyes rose to meet his gaze. The Zabrak! The village of Mandalorians! The fight!

He had to steady himself at the door frame: “Where is she?” He more or less shouted at the Zabrak who rose from his chair as he strutted over with lengthening steps.

“You want to eat and drink first. And I’m sure you don’t like what you taste in your mouth right now.” The horned man was right, he didn’t like it at all.

He had to look up to look into the red-black face. The Zabrak scrunched up his nose: “And you want to freshen up first. Doing us all a favour.” He sniffled, the horned man was more than right.

He hung his head and nodded. “There,” his host directed him to a door next to the one he come from. “Everything is prepared. When you are back the food is ready.” He resigned and without a word he headed into the fresher.

He sighed when he lifted the helmet off his head. Despite the hot air it felt good to feel and smell it directly. His hair was matted down, sweaty and he needed a cut, badly. He ran his hands through and ruffled up his locks. He shook his head as strands fell chin-long into his face. He definitely needed a cut.

The fresher was small and clean and as the tall man had said, everything was there. Soap and towels, means to shave and other cleaning things. Set aside on a pile was a fresh set of undergarments. He eyed them sceptically when he heard the Zabrak from the outside: “ They should fit, if not I can get others.” He looked baffled at the closed door, then shrugged. It was not like he couldn’t need them, after all he had only what he was wearing. The rest was on the ship. The ship and its crew, well not crew, but nevertheless. They had to be informed. He would have to go back. No, first to the pilot – to her. No, first smell-able, right now he reeked.

He still felt stiff from a sleep without moving and his sores’ aches hadn’t much subsided either. His shoulders burnt from where he had hung and torn at the men keeping him restrained. He rolled them before he peeled out of the flight suit. His undergarments followed to lie in a heap on the ground. He flicked on the shower and he sighed when the hot water spread steam in the small room. This would feel really good.

The water was scalding hot as it pelted down on his body. He rested his forearm on the tiles and buried his head in the crook of his arm as the hot jets streamed down his back. It didn’t do his dizziness any good, but the rest of his body screamed bliss. He waited until he was more than soaked, only then he reached for the soap and cloth to lather himself head to toe. He winced as he rubbed over his sore spots. Two more scars to add to the collection.

The room was filled with steam when he finally turned off the shower. With the towel slung round his midriff he wiped at the small mirror. He grabbed brush and toothpaste and got rid of the foul taste. Spitting out he gazed at his face again and scratched at his stubby chin and jaws. The dark stubble had to get off and as he was at it he used the razor blade at his lengthy hair, too. When done he checked on himself in the mirror, it was not his best work. He still looked somewhat shabby, but who would see anyway.

Having dried himself he hung the towel over the rack and slipped into the undergarments. They fitted well enough. When he got back to the ship he would need another flight suit. But would the Zabrak let him go just like that. He cursed at himself for not having taken a com with him.

When he left the fresher room a well-known smell crept under his visor and made his mouth water. He could already taste the hot spice which would clear his sinuses and make him sniffle: _Tiingilar_!

The bowl and two plates were placed on the already set table. His host was sitting on one of the chairs. When the tall Zabrak saw him approach he dished out the food.

He stood there shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he was too aware of these Mandalorians taking it for granted to not wear the helmets when at home. But he wasn’t at home here and this wasn’t not his family.

As if reading his mind the Zabrak looked at him and asked: “Is it enough if I turn around or do you prefer to eat in the bedroom?”

He considered for some time. The smell of the food taunted him and urged him to a decision especially as his stomach told him loudly that it wanted its share.

“Ermm … dunno … never had to …” There was the low rumbling from his middle again. After all his helmet hadn’t been removed while he had been out. His host had respected the Creed that much. With his head hung he mumbled: “Oh well … yes sure … ‘s enough,” and he sat down.

As he looked up through the lowered visor he saw the grin of the Zabrak. His sharp teeth were somewhat scary. But the scent of the food had him concentrate quickly on his plate. Almost impatiently he shifted on his chair waiting for the Zabrak to position his chair the other way.

-*-*-*-

The warrior that came out of the shower was a different one to behold. He stood straighter, looked improved and certainly smelt better. There was more purpose in the way he walked, though, so he mused, the _Tiingilar_ which he had cooked, might be the real reason for that.

Dargak wasn’t sure how he would react to the set table with two plates, but there was still the possibility to retreat to the bedroom for privacy.

He hid his amused smile as he heard the younger man sniff audibly several times. And he was glad he had just turned his back to him when he couldn’t hide his grin anymore as he heard the loud growl of the man’s stomach – he was hungry for sure.

When he had turned he had composed himself, glad that the man who more strictly held to the Creed did want to share the mealtime with him. That was when he witnessed the helmet hanging in defeat and lost it. He knew that his toothy grin looked scary to others but the image was just – he almost didn’t want to admit it – delightful: Defeat by hunger!

-*-*-*-

It was hot! It burnt all the way up to his nose! It watered his eyes! It stole his breath! It was delicious!

With a content sigh he slumped back in the chair. “Stars! I’ve never eaten _Tiingilar_ that well-cooked!” His host had been modest at his praise. But he had meant it, not only because he had felt starved.

With helmet in place again he helped to clean the table and kitchen before he formed his plea: “Can we … I’d like … to see.”

Of course the Zabrak had agreed, he wanted to know himself. In the med hut they were greeted by the very tired looking healer. Whereas the tall horned man had strode into the room where she was lying he had held back, kept to the wall next to the entrance to the room.

His hands had balled into fists as he took in her pale and sweaty face. If it weren’t for that she could have also been sleeping. Only the inviting look of his host let him inch closer. The sheet under which she rested wasn’t disturbed visibly, not even a flat breathing. He watched very closely to see any change of level.

His brain stopped working and his throat clammed up: “I-Is … Is … Is she … dead?” The healer instantly placated him and pulled him closer by his wrist: “No, check yourself.” He blinked through the visor at him. “Take off your glove and feel her pulse.”

He did, he pulled of his glove and carefully took her hand. He had to fumble to finally find the soft – he didn’t want to call it weak – beating of her pulse, her heart was beating.

The two other men had walked a few steps away, talking in hushed voices which he heard as a negligible noise. His sense was tuned into her rhythm and he barely noticed the hands on his shoulders pressing him down to sit on a stool. Even when the Zabrak eased his still gloved hand off hers to peel off his other glover he was absorbed by the steady beat.

One hand holding hers and the fingers of his other hand on her wrist he forgot about everything around him and time. Only when his head nodded forward he felt how long he had sat there. They were by themselves by now. Shaking his head to shake off the sleepiness he shifted on the stool.

-*-*-*-

 _How adorable and devoted_ – she thought as she quietly entered their patient’s room. First she had only seen the broad shoulders hunched over. As she tiptoed to the side she was able to take in the whole scene. His elbows rested on his knees and his helmet was sunk to rest on his curled fingers with which he held her hand. Though obviously asleep his fingers where still attached to her pulse.

She quietly closed the window and draped a blanket over the man. Tomorrow he would have a sore back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur: Today is a good day for someone else to die  
> hut'uun: coward, worst possible insult  
> alor: leader  
> ad: child, son, daughter  
> buir: parent, father, mother  
> Tiingilar: hot spice Mandalorian dish (effect comparable to fresh horse radish, just more so!)


	16. Gold will leave you empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Care is needed when one is hurt. Caring for them when they are not responsive is easy, you don't have to put yourself on display. But when they are awake - that is something different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my best at the fluff - hope you like it. Kudos and comments are very much appreciated. <3  
> songlist (long chapter, pick your favourite)  
> 1) Type 0 Negative - Angel https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7zQGn3V0IY  
> 2) Rammstein - Ohne dich https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8GMGpHdkbaY  
> 3) Tharmas - Stoa https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZQj2-2HMAw  
> 4) Doro Pesch - Undying https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TRujGGFC7mM  
> 5) dark tranquility - auctioned https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fmFlB6o9QBs  
> 6) scorpions - send me an angel https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1UUYjd2rjsE

His back was sore, his legs were numb and his fingers tingled with the feeling coming back into them. Somewhere during his watch, and he scowled at himself at how easily and fast, he had fallen asleep. As he stretched his back something heavy fell off, someone had draped a blanket over him. Probably one of the healers. She was still lying as she had been when he had snoozed off. Only it had not been just a snooze, it had been an hours long sleep.

He leant back and stretched again, several vertebrae popped, sounding even to his helmeted ears loud. He turned his head as the door opened. The female healer came in with a mug of steaming something in her hand: “Thought you could need this.” He eyed the dark liquid, it was caff which he sure could use after a night cramped down on a stool.

She left immediately again. He looked down at the unresponsive woman and without a second thought he uncovered his head. The hot mug felt good in his hands and already the scent revived him to some degree. Carefully he sipped at it. He almost feared that the slurping sounds he made would wake her, but of course they didn’t.

The caff was slowly cooling as he kept watching her, taking in the dishevelled hair plastered to her scalp, the M-shaped hairline, her pale oval face and the scar that cut horizontally across her left forehead, her curved eyebrows, every little wrinkle at her eyes’ corners, her high cheekbones and her delicate small-ridged nose with its slight irregularity telling of a once broken bone, the swing of her perfectly proportioned lips with the soft ridge at the cupid’s bow and her fine chin with its every so slight dimple.

He couldn’t keep himself from softly running the back of his fingers along her cheek and pluck away a strand from her forehead. Her hair had the colour of dark copper, at the ends it turned a shade lighter and he saw some grey strands on her temples.

He tore himself away from her and gulped down the rest of his caff, long gone cold. After he had put his helmet back on, he left with a last glance at her before closing silently the door. He had questions and requests and everything was best done before she was awake again.

He found his way back to the home of the Zabrak who was sitting over his data pad again. His host came to greet him with a knowing smile: “I take it you have been cared for.”

He gnawed on his lower lip wondering what to return to that: “I wanted to thank you for taking me in, but … erm … there are … I need to do some things … and … for that I need to go back to the ship.”

The taller man looked into his visor: “Do you need help? I can provide a speeder and my aid.”

He didn’t know how to convey that he didn’t want his, the tribe’s secret to be revealed. “What did she say … like .. who she’d be with?”

The raised eyebrow gave the facial expression of the Zabrak a suddenly vicious air: “She didn’t say anything at all.”

“Then I can’t say anything either,” he knew he was impolite. “I’m sorry I can’t say more. But whatever I need to do won’t put the tribe here at any risk and after …” and now he would get even presumptuous.

But the patient listener snorted: “I’m sure of that , she wouldn’t have come back with you in tow if it meant a threat, no matter what the past here was like for her.” He winked: “Do what you have to do and then come back … to _her_.”

His eyes widened at how easily this man dismissed what he wanted to say and how easily he was reading him – _come back to her_ – he cleared his throat and swallowed quickly: “ _Vor’e_!”

-*-*-*-

The night had been quiet without the snoring of a drugged man lying in his bed and he guessed that he would have another restful night as he watched the green-blue warrior on his speeder disappear over the ridge.

He was also certain that he would be back. He had watched closely his reaction to his words and the sudden embarrassed primness in his posture had let him know that he had chosen the right words – _come back to her_.

Even if Sharjea hadn’t come late at night to tell him that his guest had fallen asleep holding his daughter’s hand, he would have bet his best blaster on in.

He hadn’t wanted to say why he needed to go back to the ship, probably not only to get a change of clothing, but his word that there was no danger was enough for him. Yet his hesitancy to say more had him curious. The man was protecting something else than his daughter.

He was quite sure that he wasn’t the only passenger on the Keldab, as she wouldn’t have let just any roamer travel with her and her precious ship. His daughter always kept the ship safe, she would have activated security measurements and in order to get in he would have to know them. There was no hesitation in him so he obviously did know how to get into the ship.

And if he wasn’t the only passenger and there were others, who were they and where from and above all why had his child brought them here on her ship? He hoped that on his return and with her hopefully at least awake the foreign warrior would be more open.

-*-*-*-

He picked his way back with the help of his helmet’s systems. Without having to keep to covers the way seemed much shorter, but it had been late when he had set off. He could hardly make out the ship by the moon’s light. When he was sure that he hadn’t erred he headed straight towards it: Suddenly a rifle shot whipped past him.

He braked sharply, almost toppling the speeder biker over. There was no one to be seen as his eyes swept the closer and wider surrounding through the visor. Reaching up he adjusted the setting and made out parts of a heat signature covered by a boulder. He was close enough to engage his helmet-com. Tenderly he reached out: “ Tern. Copy.”

The familiar voice of Bril Rull sounded in his ears. “ _Di’kut_! Almost shot you. Out.”

Bril was known as an excellent sharpshooter, his rifle second to none unless it came to the awesome Amban rifle of the other _beroya_. He hadn’t missed him at all, he was sure of that.

He let out a grunt of annoyance at his own short-sightedness. Of course they would guard the perimeters and make sure the ship and its occupants would be safe, especially the children. With two gone and one probably still out, it was up to the couple to protect them all.

When he reached she ship he saw Bril’s wife Fina who released the younglings again after she had ushered them in. “Where have you been? And where is the meat your said you’d bring back?” She stepped up to him while ranting and almost pushed him off the speeder.

He held his hands up in surrender: “Please, hear me.” He must have used the right tone, because she stopped immediately: “What happened?”

“The pilot. I followed her, to her covert. There’s another tribe, but different. She got hurt and I need to go back to her. I just wanted to let you know. And to get some things.”

By now Bril had joined them: “ How different?”

“No helmets.” He kept his voice as neutral as possible.

“What? Like none at all?” the horror was to be heard in the exclamation.

“No, not wearing within the tribe, I think,” reflecting he hadn’t seen any, only the two dead fighters who of course had worn theirs.

“How did she get hurt? Is it bad?” Fina had a heart of gold and was always in search of more female company, especially when it came to workouts. Being feisty but tiny always gave her an disadvantage, though she never wanted anyone to go easy on her just because of her size.

“Who’s hurt?” a broad toothy grin lit his face, this low bass belonged to only one man. Paz was up again. He turned and gave him a slow nod: “ _Su cuy'gar_. Good. The pilot. She took part in a … erm … combat of honour and got hurt … seriously. I have to go back. Just need a few things.”

“We shall not accompany you?” the huge Mandalorian sounded slightly worried but mostly curious.

It was best to break the bad news to him as unembellished as possible: “Sure if you want to see a tribe who doesn’t wear their helmets unless in battle.”

The roar was to expected, so he was the only one who didn’t flinch: “WHAT?!?” The blue helmet was notched forward as a brown clad arm with dark red armour shot out and swatted at its back: “Stop scaring everyone, especially the foundlings.” The huge man turned with what he imagined a probably disbelieving look on his face.

This was the distraction he needed and he tried to steal past the mass of muscles. He was halfway past him when the massive fist shout and held his upper arm in a steely grip. He placed his own gloved one above it: “You heard me, the way is different here. So better stay. Care for the foundlings and protect the ship. We will join as soon as possible. Please. It will take some time. They got her bad. But I’ll have the com with me.”

“They?” the blue helmet lowered dangerously.

“They. Two. _Riduure_. Old quarrel settled.” The grunt that came from under the helmet towering him a head-length was one of appreciation and the inquiry that followed more a statement: “She’ll live.”

His own answer was soft but sombre and more a wish sent to whoever was willing to listen: “I hope.”

The red healer had slid her form next to the huge warrior and listened attentively: “Is she cared for? Do they have a good healer?” her voice betrayed her tension.

He nodded, thinking about the two healers. Actually he didn’t really know, he had been too much not himself and hadn’t paid them any attention: “Yes, they have two. They … seemed competent. And with better equipment. Quite a large med-hut.”

“Good. Then gear down and get some rest.” Her voice told him arguing would be useless. He did though, but as always with the red healer he lost their battle of wits.

Early next morning he was the first to be up and rummaged through his packages and what they had brought from the covert. Now that Paz was walking on his own feet again, it could be the Rulls who could do the hunting, he wasn’t required here anymore.

The most pressing questions had been answered already last night. Going through the mental list he had made he packed everything to fit on the speeder.

He was back in the cabin that had been assigned to him when the red healer entered: “You are in a haste to go back … to her.” He froze instantly. “What? Is there anything wrong with what I said?” her voice had taken on an amused tone to his reaction.

“No. It is just … you are not the first one to say that. Her _buir_ used exactly the same words,” he turned to her and lowered his head. “What does … why does everyone see…?”

She waited for more words that seemed to linger. When he didn’t continue she explained: “I see, because I’ve known you my whole life, Thar’ika. And I hope she sees it too.”

He looked into her visor and nodded: “Me too, Tul’ika.” She had always been a solace for him, one of the few he absolutely trusted. And as always she felt that all he needed was some assurance and he was glad for the _mirshmure'cya_ they shared for a brief moment.

“Be safe, _khi’vod_. And keep in contact. Now shush, off with you.” Helping him to carry his packs he she ushered him out.

Even though he knew that everything had been cared for, that the remnant of his tribe was safe and the heavy infantry on the way to recovery he left with a heavy heart. It was the first time that he wanted to be in two places at the same time. Looking back he knew realized where his heart pulled him more at the moment.

-*-*-*-

It was dark, everything was night, a deep void threatening to suck her in. She felt like suspended by thorns, like lying on blade tips which slowly inched their way into her body.

It was blinding light, everything was basked into the light of a hundred suns, a burning cavity threatening to elevate her into nothingness. A thousand laser shots ripping through her torso.

_There is no light without the dark_

She blinked, stared, blinked, fell into a dreamless sleep. When she opened her eyes again they refused to focus and she stared blindly. Her head was a blur and she felt like she couldn’t feel herself at all. At the same time every part of her body seemed to compete on whose agony was greater.

Trying to inhale was such a bad idea, she coughed and wheezed. There was this metallic taste once more. The last time she had tasted it was in the combat circle. She rolled her head to the side, somehow she was familiar with this room.

Old memories from old injuries crept into her mind. The treatment room, she was in the med hut, white sheets covering her. The chairs were empty, there were no voices, the morning sun painted the tiles in bright white. She had been here rather often, sometimes to be released immediately, sometimes it took longer.

Slowly her hand roamed over her body, bandages, the smell of Kolto and Bacta, her right arm was thickly wrapped up. She closed her eyes and just concentrated on small breaths.

Every exhale was fire and every inhale was water – burn or drown. It was easier when she concentrated on abdominal breathing.

Everything seemed so quiet and still. And it lulled her back to sleep. This time she dreamt and with the dreams she turned around restlessly.

The black troopers in a green jungle turned into run-down housing turned into an airfield surrounded by lava.

The green armour going down, ruptured by red bolts, red liquid flowing from it, standing up with blue fluids pouring down and leaving streaks.

The orange armour coming at her again and again, falling and coming apart in a crimson shower.

_Through victory you gain harmony_

Warmth on her hands, warmth on her cheek. Her thrashing slowly subsided, her panting invoked pain and pain woke her. When she opened her eyes a green-blue visor looked down at her and quickly turned sideways. The warmth on her hand remained.

“ _Me'vaar ti gar_?” She recognized the sonorous, velvety voice. “ _Naas._ ” She was only able to rasp and coughed.

“Liar,” his voice smiled. “I’ll get you something to drink.” She was barely able to lift her head and he helped her. When he rested her head back he brushed a strand back over her ear.

“So, how are you really? Shall I get the healer?” He seemed worried, she just shook her head once, more and she would have the world spinning. “’S okay, ……. just p-pain. ……. tir'd.”

“Then sleep. I’ll be here.” She heard the creaking of wood on the floor and then as he settled down. The warmth on her hand was back, this time even warmer than before and a thumb brushed circles against the back of her hand. It was calming and soporific.

_Through serenity you gain strength_

-*-*-*-

He saw his speeder fully packed outside the med hut and smiled – he had returned – and gone to her straight away. He knew that his daughter had a stormy impact, that it had such an attracting quality was new to him.

He entered the hut and made himself known to the helmet that slightly turned. The man could only be able to see him at the very edge of his visor. He took the other chair and pulled it next to the warrior at the head of the bed. The helmet had turned to his child’s face again.

He took his time to take in the man in front of him. How he managed was beyond him, but the warrior sat with crossed legs on the chair his elbow on the bed and his fist supporting his chin under the helmet. His right hand covered his daughter’s hand. A scene much similar to what Sharjea had described to him the day before. He smiled as he wondered if he should offer him the blanket already.

Instead he tried to gain more information: “I saw the packed speeder. You got into the ship?”

A slight nod: “Yes, she told me how, but it wasn’t ne…..” he had caught himself before disclosing more.

“Your _vode_ have everything they need.” He didn’t form a question, but a statement. And the reaction was immediate. The helmet came up sharply, stared at him and the man unfolded slowly his features forbiddingly in their posture. A predator about to strike.

His voice had turned hostile: “How do you know? You said she hadn’t said anything. Did you follow me? Who else knows?” The man shot his questions at him.

He raised his hands although he could probably easily subdue him: “I have eyes and a brain. And neither, nor. I didn’t follow and nobody else knows. And no one is interested, I guess. In their eyes you have come with her.” At the last statement the man tilted his head in a questioning way. “You stated very loudly that you belong to her when you went to retrieve her from the ring.”

“I – I didn’t say … anything. ….Did … Did I … “ Without being able to see the younger man’s face it was hard to follow the twists of mood and emotions. But right now it was easy to read him. He was raking his brain for a memory which he couldn’t find.

“They heard your screams. That was enough.” The threat in the foreigner’s posture had lessened.

The helmet shifted and moved cluelessly: “I didn’t … scream.”

Dargak let a swift smile cross his face: “You did. Loudly. But my guess is, you do not remember much at all.” Here the helmet stopped and shook a last time.

“Sit, rest, talk, stay silent. It doesn’t matter. We will not talk before she awakes. But I’d say sit and rest, you make her restless,“ he let his eyes fall down to the shifting body of his _ad’ika_.

He had known that his daughter was able to pick up on his emotions and it had been a good training for him to keep them under control. But the younger man wouldn’t know about anything of this.

He immediately looked at her and seeing the truth of her father’s statement resumed his impossible posture. But only for a moment then the helmet came back: “Your … she … she had been awake for a short time earlier.”

Dargak let go of a sigh of relief: “That is good, maybe I’ll be there too, next time, but there will be a meeting later. I have to attend.” At the obvious look of the warrior before him he added: “ Tribe matters, nothing else. They will decide about Vas and Tiani. The two she fought. My daughter’s and their history is long and complicated, and – let’s say – painful. It split the tribe and I fear there will be a long discussion about if and how to honour them. But this shall be nothing to you.”

The man just shrugged, it was just names to him and he wouldn’t interfere in their politics same as Dargak wouldn’t interfere in their tribe’s politics.

“I will get you something to drink and some food. I understand you want to stay here. I can ask Ron to set up a cot here or you can just sleep in one of the other beds.” He stood up and looked down from the man to his prone daughter resting without disturbance once more.

“Yes, thank you.” his voice came with a heavy sigh.

“Of course you are welcome at my place, any time.” He felt the man’s attention had again completely shifted away from him. He turned and was about to leave the room when he was stopped dead in his tracks on hearing the blue visor’s question.

“Why don’t you wear your helmets? The resol’nare …”

He had do interrupt there: “The resol’nare says _Jor_ _beskar'gam –_ wear armor. That we do. The helmet is for war and battle not for family, clan or tribe. Normally we are left alone and we have a sentry system. So no _aruetii_ will see us.”

“This … this is not we were taught. This is not the way.” He sounded taken aback and even confused.

“We can talk about this at a later point of time. I’m sure there is a reason for your tribe to not remove their helmets unless it is family.” He had been assuming here, but otherwise it didn’t make any sense at all. He rose his hand in a farewell and left the man to muse over his words and watch over his child.

He guided his steps toward the forge. The meeting was to be held there and he hoped it would be over soon. When he entered he saw the healers immediately and went over to them: “I’ve just been to the med hut, he is back and watches over her.” The smirk that spread over Sharjea’s face was wide enough to tell him that she was entertaining the same ideas as he was.

The topics were various, the last incident only one of them. He sighed at what would take likely hours of his time.

-*-*-*-

She was getting used to the crew and the ship. Compared to what she was used to it was immense. Even her quarters seemed out of proportion to her. She had her own bed, it was spacious. A locker large enough for thrice the things she owned, or even more. She had her own little desk with a little computer. There was even a table and two chairs. And a small sink. The large refresher area was next to the med bay. She almost felt lost at the sheer size.

~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~

She felt at home. The couple helped a lot to feel this way – like _aliit_. The only other member was a warrior close to her age, a few years older she guessed. He made her uneasy, he was teasing but not taunting. He made sure that she was able to laugh at his jokes and antics. He made her self-conscious when he looked at her with his dark blue eyes.

~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~

They worked well together – a team. More so, like one gear getting the next rolling. He was her constant shadow and she sought his shade. His midnight hair standing at all angles made her laugh, she wanted to cry when she felt his Cavansite blue marbles sink into her inner being.

~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~

She was intoxicated and could barely breath. His touch was feathers and his lips downs. He burnt down her barriers and took her to heights. She was nothing when he was not there. When they were one she felt whole. His embrace was her comfort, the pulse of his heart was the spark of her life. Their nights turned days, their fire into an inferno. He was complementing her moves and he was guiding her with his thrusts. He was the answer to her questions and her answer to his was _yes_.

_Through passion you gain focus_

-*-*-*-

He had fallen asleep again and woke with her hand jerking in his. He watched her getting restless, her pupils were moving rapidly under her closed lids, long lashes flattering. Her body twitched again and again. He was up and with a wide step kneeling on the floor next to her head. When her head moved and her cheek nestled into his palm she moaned softly. He gasped. Where he had been drowsy at first he was now stark awake. Was it the dream or his touch – the question gnawed at him.

Curiously she seemed to calm as his palm cradled her cheek. He sat back on his haunches his free hands moved down to gather hers again. With the surge of surprise slowly ebbing off he felt a certain weariness creep in. He slowly rolled his head and shoulders, never would he have thought that keeping wake took such a toll. Resting his helmet on the bed next to her shoulder eased some of the pain that wandered across his shoulder blades.

He woke up from a giggle behind him. Not moving at all his eyes raked over the edges of his visor. He hadn’t moved an inch from the position he had fallen asleep in. At the very edge of his vision the female in white appeared. She placed a tray on the small table, on it something to eat and drink for him. She was whispering to somebody in his back. “I wonder how he can sleep like that at all. We have to bring in the cot, or he will be worse off than her, when she finally wakes up.”

The answer was a twofold suppressed chuckle – her husband and the Zabrak. He didn’t want to rise to their teases, after all he was wondering himself how he was able to drowse off in these positions. He would wait until they were gone. All he could hope was that his stomach wouldn’t betray him after a day of fastening.

But his luck held. The three of them retreated quietly and quickly. He waited a good measurement before he heaved himself up and to the table. By the light that fell onto the tray he wondered that it was already – or was it again – early morning.

Hungry as he was he didn’t bother to dwell long on this thought. Before him was a cold dish, some kind of meat, pickled vegetables and some kind of bread. With his back to the sickbed he sat down and set his helmet within reach on the table. He savoured the taste of the meat. It was tender and juicy, with unknown flavours tickling his taste buds. The pickles were refreshing in their taste, slightly sour and of a hotness he hadn’t experienced before - he needed the bread.

He was satiated and a minute feeling of happiness stole into him. He was about to clean his hands on his thighs, when he just stopped himself, they weren’t his. So he stood up and went to the sink in the tiny refresher attached to the room. The running water sounded loud in the room and then he heard to door open.

For a moment he stared at the panicking reflection in the small mirror: his helmet was still on the table! He had gotten careless! He pushed the door to the fresher shut and leant against it.

“Oh,” the sound of realization came from the Zabrak. “I’m sorry! Should have knocked. Just brought a cot for you to sleep on.” A slow chuckle rang out. “I’m gone right away.”

Caught twice in a row! He slumped down to a squat groaning frustratedly. They were not doing it on purpose, but their concept of the Creed was so fundamentally contrary to his upbringing.

The Zabrak had closed the door loud enough for him to hear in the small fresher. And when he peeked out carefully he strode quickly over to get his helmet. Only then he had a look at the change in the room. He wanted to swear at the sight he took in. The cot hadn’t been put at some wall where it would have been out of the way. No! He had placed it right next to her bed, less than an arm’s length away.

He paced the room, still uprooted from almost having lost his helmet. Whenever his eyes fell on the cot, its closeness to the sickbed, he grumbled. He was mostly angry at himself, at his foolishness, at his boyishness. He was angry that he behaved like a love-sick Wookie and that everyone was able to see it.

-*-*-*-

It was not loud, but constant and in gained entrance to her consciousness. Pad, pad, pad, pad, pad – pad, pad, pad, pad, pad – it kept repeating, five pads pause five pads. It pulled her from the depths and made her aware of more around her. The heaviness of her breaths, the soreness of her body and the dizziness of her mind.

Finally she pried her eyes open and became aware of the prowling warrior. Watching his up and down path didn’t do her dizziness any good, it irritated her: “Hey … _di’kut_ … you …make me … dizzy.”

The blur of green-blue which spun around and was swiftly at her side made her groan once more. His helmet moved up and down raking over her form. His voice didn’t sound any better than hers, a mere raucous croak: “How do you feel?”

She wanted to say like having got stabbed, but the intensity with which the blue visor stared at her made her swallow any harsh remark. How did he do that? He had paced like an idiot and woken her, he was clucking over her like an idiot and made her feel embarrassed, he was staring at her like an idiot and he cornered her.

He was hovering so close to her that she could smell him. She knew that smell, it was like dark soil after a rain and thyme, it was like Dargak’s smell only slightly different. And she knew the black flight suit, it was Tusru’s. Her _buir’s_ late brother.

She tugged softly at the hem of his sleeve: “Fits you.”

It made him chuckle: “Mine were still on the ship.” But I got some change and I informed them while you were asleep.”

She sucked in her breath: “How long have I been out?”

He had finally straightened: “Four days, give or take. I call the healers to see to you.”

She waved off, as he was no longer so close the scent of earth and thyme left and she scrunched up her nose at what invaded her nostrils: medical treatments, sweat and blood. No one should have to treat her smelling like that, her pride forbid.

“I’m fine, just need some fresher and then some caff. Really crave it.” She smiled sheepishly at him and felt like a youngling asking their _buir_ for sweets.

She was confused when he reacted in a somewhat alarmed way and wanted to talk her out of it: “Can you smell my stench? If I have to inhale anymore I will go sick right here and there.” The gears in his head actuated the gears in his legs – he started pacing again.

She huffed and struggled to sit up to get out of the bed. She had to admit that his reflexes were immense. Obviously having given in to her stubbornness he helped her to sit up. With a tap on his arm she indicated that she needed to adjust after having lain for so long. Her blood cycle slowly catching up to the change of level.

She wriggled to sit at the edge while his hands steadied her. His huffs and grunts told her of his displeasure. Again very slowly to let herself adjust and to keep the tugging sensation at her side to a minimum she managed to come to a stand. Mostly due to his guiding and securing support which he acted out with one arm around her waist while offering the other for her to grab with her hands to stand steadily.

“Still think you should wait for the female healer.” His voice and breath were so guarded, she almost didn’t hear his nervousness over her own hitched breathing.

“I can man .. age. Just .. need … get in .. fresh … er.” She panted out every word. Even if he was right, she didn’t see a way Sharjea would get her into the shower. She just needed him to take her there. Then she could do without him. Something to sit on was the only thing she would need in the shower. With each step she felt her legs weakened more, but there was no way she would let him know.

-*-*-*-

She was awake – he had almost stumbled over his own feet to be at her side.

She was headstrong – caff, okay but fresher that was out of question. A few hours more in grime wouldn’t hurt her.

She was weak – he could feel by the way she clasped his arm, nothing reminded him of the strong grip he had felt on Nevarro.

She was trembling when they reached the fresher – he couldn’t convince her to go back to the bed and feared that her legs would give out. He was prepared to carry her back any minute.

Wearing no gloves in the med area had become a custom to him. He could feel the damp skin on her back as the sheer infirmary shirt only covered her front down to the thighs.

By the time they had finally reached the fresher she couldn’t hide the tremble anymore and her skin was covered with cold sweat. He was glad for the stool that stood in the corner of the fresher and placed her on it.

She just sat there and tried to catch up with her breathing. Only after some time – while he stood there stupidly watching her – she started to pluck at the covering on her arm. The only thing that came to his mind, as he slowly tried to process what to do next, was asking the obvious: “Want the bandages off?” Of course she nodded, that was why she was picking at them – _di’kut_ – he scolded himself, she was right to stick to this nickname for him.

He assisted her to get the wrapping on her arm off and despite the treatment he could still see the effect the axe’s thorn had had. Even with Kolto the time had been too short to effectively heal the hole completely. Disturbed by the removing of the gauze it started oozing again.

When her hands reached for the rack on the tiled wall and braced in a straighter posture he instinctively started undoing the bandages round her middle. Blindly reaching round her beneath the soft fabric of the flimsy shirt.

The closer he came to the end of the unwrapping the more careful he became, he didn’t want to disturb this wound as much as he had the other.

“Need to wetten it, it’s stuck, “he informed her when the gauze stayed in place. He started the shower, pointing the jets of water towards the tiled corner until the water had an agreeable temperature. Then he turned it very low and moistened her side. The shirt got in the way no matter how often he pulled it aside.

Finally the last piece of dressing came off and he stilled. It didn’t look that bad at all, but he realized how deep it must have been and how much damage it must have caused to explain the condition she was in.

He didn’t want to lecture her. She had been out of her mind to take on two opponents in the ring of honour. He could have assis… - he trailed off. No he couldn’t have assisted her. It had been her honour, her fight. He wouldn’t have wanted it differently if he had been in her place.

Her hands were already reaching for the cloth that hang from the rack. It was a small bag with a solid content and he knew already from her father’s home that it contained the soap. He cupped his hands under hers collecting the soap as she let go: “What shall I start with?”

He was worried that too much movement might re-open one of the penetration wounds. Maybe it was that worry that carried in his tone. He bent slowly into her periphery to glance round her shoulders. Her head moved slightly to acknowledge him. He could see her long slashes as she closed her eyes in thought. Just for a brief moment he speculated if she was going to fall asleep again. But then he heard her worn out voice: “Hair.”

A feeling like an electric pulse went through him. Only slowly over his hours at her bed he had got used to actually see her face. When they had brought her to the med hut in her unconscious state, he had barely noticed that readying her for the surgery had also included removing her helmet. He had seen it, yes, but not comprehended it.

When he had gone back the first time, he had been stunned and looked anywhere else. But while he was sitting with her, with each breath she had taken, especially with those that hurt him hearing, he had got more and more familiar with the sight. He had sought her facial expression at especially painful inhales and stutters. He had studied her wrinkles and furrows when she grew restless. He had put all the little details into his memory.

Touching her face and hair while she couldn’t feel him was one thing, being able, even allowed to touch her when she could feel his hands on her was just another world, another universe.

He checked the temperature of the water again. Taking her long strands into his hand he started to rinse them, working slowly upwards towards her scalp. His hip supported her back as felt her lean back into him and her head tilted back.

With one hand on her forehead, just where her hair began, he kept the water from spraying into her face. His fingers kneading along her scalp and through the lengths to make sure he had properly moistened her hair. Only then he started using the soap. He put it aside and started his massage.

He watched her face as it started to relax during the acupressure he gave her scalp and listened to her breath. Now and then he caught a soft moan or purr and it made him smile. He could and would do that whenever she wished to, preferably every day. He stifled a sigh as his chest contracted at both the prospect and the unlikelihood of his daydream.

He rinsed her hair and repeated the procedure, making sure she did feel clean and no soap rests were in her hair, awed at how dark her hair had turned when wet, he noted the lighter areas where her strands near her temples had lost its colour.

Maybe it was because her form was almost completely soaked already or just because it felt right. Maybe it was because she leant against him that comfortably or just didn’t protest that he continued with her arms. He was very careful with her hurt right arm. When he knelt at her side and started lathering her foot, slowly working up to her thigh her only movement was to stretch it out. Rising slowly he changed his position and knelt at her other side, repeating the washing with the other leg.

His progress was slow, reverent in the way his hands touched her when needed, keeping the cloth between her skin and his palm where possible. Yet he memorized all the scars her near nakedness revealed.

When he had resumed his position at her back again he gathered the lengths of her hair and placed them over her shoulder. Slowly, giving her time to object, he undid the two lacings at her back. His hands slowly stroke over her shoulders as he pushed the fabric over them. His fingers lingered on her skin as they traced back and down her shoulder blades. There was a light shudder and he could feel her muscles tense under his touch. He watched their slow work under her skin.

He moved down on a knee as he circled the cloth over her stiff back, curving along the small of her back and over her shapely curves. He avoided the stitched area where the blade had found its way between her ribs and the burn marks at the small of her back where she had rolled over the blue sparkling combat staff. Her hands had found the rack again, gripping it so hard that her knuckles turned white. She barely breathed and when she did her whole body convulsed in small waves.

His mouth had gone dry and he had to swallow several times, his Adam’s apple rasped against the fabric of his neckcloth. It suddenly felt abrasive against his skin. She was so perfect, the light skin colour, its softness and the rippling of her muscles beneath, the way her damp hair fell over her shoulder and just single strands lay in soft waves against her lathered spine, the sensuous hourglass-curves.

He slowly lifted from his knee and placed his hands on her upper arms where the wet and see-through fabric had come to a halt. Gingerly he slid his hands down her arms and the fabric with it. One after the other, her hands left the aid of the rack and the piece of clothing slid down and pooled in her lap. When he ran the soaped cloth along her collar bones, he had to change the hand he used as he kept standing at her back. Her head bowed forward and he wasn’t sure if she was watching him or if she had her eyes closed.

He imagined the second and hoped for the first when his hand slid down to rest just above her breast. If he hadn’t watched her that closely he might have missed the ever so slight nod of concession. He didn’t linger and he didn’t haste as the cloth beneath his hand moved over her breasts describing an eight. Then his hands moved lower to rub gentle circles across her abdomen.

He didn’t miss when her breathing came to a complete stop as he lathered her chest and the shaky inhale as his hand touched her iliac region. Further he didn’t dare. He placed the cloth on her thigh and facing away from her, he busied himself with adjusting the mechanism for the water jets of the shower, setting them to a soft stream.

It was just a soft sound, but he knew that it was time to rinse the soap off her body. The fabric was still draped over her lap and he equally felt glad and wistful. He made sure that he kept her hair out of the stream of water, it didn’t have to get soaked again. The water which had turned a pinkish colour when he had begun, it was running clear now.

He switched off the shower and reached for the towel. It was large and he could easily wrap it around her. Folding it over in her front, he tucked in the ends behind her armpits. She was swaying – again or still – he couldn’t say. Without premonition he clasped his arms behind the hollow of her knees and her back and lifted her furling form, then he carried her over to his cot with its fresh sheets and cautiously lay her down.

He left a trace of water with every step. His front was soaked through and dripping. He looked down at her, she had her eyes closed. He reached for the blanket meant for him and draped it over her. With a look out of the widow he realized that the speeder with his packings was still parked outside.

Leaving a wet trail he went out and rummaged through his belongings. The sun burnt down on his back and didn’t do anything to make him feel calmer. When he had found what he needed he went back in and into the shower. He need one himself, best ice-cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vor’e!: Thanks!  
> Di’kut: idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)  
> Beroya: bounty hunter  
> Su cuy'gar: Hello – (lit. You're still alive)  
> Riduure: a couple, husband and wife  
> buir: parent, father, mother  
> kov'nyn: Keldabe kiss  
> khi’vod: little brother  
> Me'vaar ti gar? How are you?  
> Naas: I'm fine thanks  
> Aruetii: foreigner, outsider  
> Aliit: family, clan


	17. Yellow is remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know more about the other is sometimes difficult and even hurtful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tried to get a bit into Mandalorian history, hope I didn't get it too wrong  
> Got creative with the helmet, had to, sorry (umm not) lol
> 
> songlist:   
> 1) nightwish - walking in the air https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y8rRHX9bHik  
> 2) Eluveitie - memento https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Xhu10q4xvM&list=PL4Jg7p5v3wbNF0fnhWgvNN9OU2w2bAvZ4&index=11  
> 3) ELuveitie - scorched earth https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aa_rLZfGkmY  
> 4) Equilibrium - Prey https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4bCkQP_lq0w

He had led her, he lathered her and she had lived in a trance. Reaching the fresher was more than she had anticipated and it left her completely exhausted, drained and unable to even more the slightest muscles. And he had just simply gone to work. As if it were the most normal thing to do. As if they had known for ages.

And it felt like that. She trusted him and felt herself at peace. It had revived and lulled her at the same time. She hadn’t felt intimidated or taken advantage of. She had consented when his body language asked for permission. He had been careful and caring. And yet she had felt something that he suppressed.

He had been nervous and calm at once. Eager and passionate as well as appeasing and wary. She had felt the war that had raged within him and it had stilled her even more. Unable to react to the onslaught of emotions. Each wave had become thicker than the one before. But underlying there had always been a reef of resolve.

Why was it that she could understand the emotions of others better than her own? She knew the answer: Because you have first suppressed and then forgotten about them.

The feeling that had kept pulling at her ever since that icy moon had subsided as she hadn’t been aware of anything in her state of unconsciousness. Now that she was awake, she felt the tug again. It was stronger as she was weaker and couldn’t keep it at bay.

Just following her feeling had brought her this far. A declined offer by Imperials, a covert destroyed, the remnant of it on her ship, a wound that had nearly cost her life and a strange Mandalorian, who reminded her so much of another in her past, yet was so different, fussing over her well-being.

But it had also brought her back home, to her _buir_. Far off and faintly she had heard his voice, very close by she had smelt his scent and felt his arms, never leaving was this feeling of protectiveness and caring – more than caring, a fatherly love.

But there was a shift in what she felt. The protectiveness subsided, it confused her as the feeling of caring and love was as strong as ever. Tuning more in she felt a rolling wave of anger about something she couldn’t grasp. She let it go. I had never been easy on her to feel him in suppressed anger. He was a Zabrak, his anger was a blaze.

Instead the sound of the running shower pulled her in. They – he had turned it off before he carried her out, so why was it running again. Her look fell to the room’s door and the wet tracks, one set leading out and one set leading in. He had been in his full gear when he had led her to the fresher. So it had to be him in there.

That thought was enough and with the sound of the gushing water a gush of emotions washed over her senses. It was a confusing wave, too many at once. There was guilt, panic, annoyance, fear and something underneath that constantly seeped – a deep sense of contentment and caring. She didn’t want to name what was set even deeper and seemed to burn through all the other emotions.

The soft knock of Sharjea saved her from jerking herself back. “ _Su'cuy_! It’s good to see that you don’t intend to go marching far away,” she winked and scrunched her eyebrows at her different position. “Since when have you been awake and what are you doing on the cot?” Somehow she must have seen the towel peek out from the blanket covering her: “Say, you didn’t go and had a shower on your own. What if you …”

The door to the fresher opened and a whiff of cold air invaded the room. Sharjea’s head turned from frowning at her to the door and her gaze widened, perception setting in. “Oh, he’s back,” in her mind all kinds of pictures played a game of tug. Especially when his head came sharply to her, slanted to the side and then hung against his Beskar. She bit her lower lip to not laugh and instead informed them that she would bring something to eat. With a stern look to the young man she added: “And you, see to it that she does eat, and you as well.”

She let go with a deep exhale: “She’s a clucking hen.” He let out a chuckle and laid the wet clothes over the back of the chair which he pulled to the window so that the sun could dry it.

She watched him when he turned to her. His head tilted to one side for a long time, then it tilted to the other side. He was watching her, too. Even when his mouth didn’t talk, his body and his mind did.

“I’m fine.” Deeper inhales still sent stabbing sensations into her side, but it had got much better. The thumping of her heart seemed loud to her, it rang in her ears, but she had to address what had happened. She wettened her lips and was just about to open her mouth when Sharjea came with a large tray: “When I come to get it back, it better be empty.” She set it on the table and left. But not before she gave her patient a cheeky wink which earned her an eye-roll. The giggle got softer as she went back to the private quarters where she had brought the food from.

He was bustling around to help her up and to the table. Most of all she felt thirsty and the broth smelt delicious. Normally it was full with all kinds of herbs to help the patients back to their feet. She pulled one bowl towards her and looked up at the still standing warrior.

She understood that he wasn’t used to eating in company of others, but it felt strange to her. She reached for the other chair positioned it and then she shifted hers, sitting sidewise to the table and with her back to him. Words were not needed, the message clear. It was his decision to sit and join her.

She balanced the hot bowl on a slice of bread and blew on the content on the spoon before she gingerly tried it. The little slurping sound was all she heard. He hadn’t moved at all. But letting the soup getting cold over his indecisiveness was not going to happen.

Then, finally, there was the soft creak of the chair and the hiss and clunk of the helmet being removed and set on the table. She smiled, partly approvingly, partly smugly. She paused until she heard also the same little noises of blowing, tasting and relish she had made.

“Your first meal in company?” She was curious, this little piece of information could tell so much.

“Of course not!” He sounded somewhat slighted. With his answer she understood his behaviour and suppressed emotions even less. But she kept quiet, to be even more astounded when he continued: “I grew up in a tribe.”

“I mean … like … after taking the Creed.” He wasn’t going to get away that easily. Within the last day most of her life had been revealed, either by her or likely by any others he had talked to.

When he spoke again his voice was small: “No, not since then. Only … only with the … your _buir_ ”

“No aliit?” Despite having been alone for the past years, she still could have spent time with her family, her father – if she had gone back home.

“Well, yes.” She perked up, but he kept eating in silence. Only when she hummed, accepting his non-information he continued: “Normally I don’t … didn’t stay in the covert often, and my _vod_ is … was busy in the med area.” He painfully remembered his loss and she did feel with him and a tiny part in her brain wondered if more could have been saved without her role in the circumstances.

But her brain also registered that he had family, she just had to make sure: “The healer in the red armour? She’s your … “

“Sister, yes. By blood even.” This was rare. Family related by blood and not by adoption had become rare since the purge. With the war raging, those left over were often younglings and where possible, clans took them in. “So you are clan-born.” There was a long silence, either he had shook his head or he had nodded.

Whichever it was, he seemed to realize only after some time that she had her back to him: “Sorry, yes.” She hummed again in acknowledgement.

“You weren’t.” He had waited several spoons before he spoke again. And she had to snort at this obvious statement. All kinds of answers shot through her mind, mostly sarcastic and cynical ones. With each she tried to predict his reaction to it.

“I mean … you don’t look like a Zabrak. Not that it would be bad. I mean …you don’t have those horns. It’s not …a bad thing. You look …erm… I mean …” He desperately tried to say the right thing and she had to laugh at the way the words stumbled out. First it was just a giggle, then she was outrightly laughing.

“Say, you’d prefer me with red skin, black tattoos and horns?” She barely brought out her words.

“No!” He had jumped off the chair and she guessed he was facing her. “I mean … oh forget it:” He slammed his form back onto the seat and by the way the leather of his flak vest creaked he had crossed his arms before his chest.

“Is your head hanging again?” She couldn’t help it, this was the mental image she had. His denial was more than grumbled.

“Liar. I can see it,” she bit her tongue, that had come out wrong and the reaction was immediate.

“YOU WHAT?” One single emotion strangulated her: panic – his and hers. So she was quick to add: “Your voice, your mannerism and …” she moved her arm sideways and pointed, “… shadow. Of course I didn’t look.” Now it was her turn to sound slighted.

He must have turned to look at where she pointed on the floor: “I haven’t seen that before.”

“Do you count that as being seen without helmet?” Her hand waving vaguely added a shadow on the tiles.

He must have been really shocked, his gulp of air was shaking and he took his time to think the situation over: “No, don’t think so.” She heard the scratch of metal as he pulled his helmet closer and sealed himself off again.

“Can I ask you something? Nothing personal though, just a small request.” She was extra specific to not tread more on his toes. “I need something to wear. Could you ask Dargak if…”

“…Yes, no problem.” He more or less fled from the room, making her wonder if he would return at all.

-*-*-*-

His heart was pounding as he stormed out of the med bay. The problem was not that she tried to get information, but the mere hint that she might have seen him without his helmet had him alarmed. An alarm that had set off twice within a short time. He wished he could turn back time to his old life in the covert.

He mounted the speeder and set off at an unhurried pace. He needed time to think. This covert’s habit of not wearing the full armour with the helmet had had him skittish from the very beginning. Now that she was on the road to recovery he had nothing to take his mind off of this issue.

Back on his first trips as a _beroya_ , accompanied by the more experienced Djarin, he had felt as edgy as right now. Back then it had been the looks the people had given both armour clad hunters. They had stood out wherever they had appeared. Here it was similar, he was standing out again. Their normality was not his.

When he reached the hut, his state of turmoil had only slightly lessened. He switched off the engine, but kept sitting on the bike. He stared at nothing when he noted the Zabrak had come to the hut’s entrance. Both men looked at each other. Before he could say anything his host waved him in and retreated.

Dargak was standing in the middle of the room and faced him: “ _N'eparavu takisit!_ It was thoughtless of me to just enter. I should respect your traditions more. “ He was about to interrup the tall Zabrak, but was waved to silence. – “wNo! Let me explain. Our luck has held ever since we were forced to leave Mandalore. Our ways here have been peaceful and we found this refuge. The sources which had brought both jetii and darjetii here have run out long ago. Leaving nothing of interest for them and thus the Empire. We were few and our force was depleted. What you see now is the result of our hunters searching for others and foundlings.”

He found out that he would rather sit while the tribe’s tale was narrated to him.

“This tribe follows the Creed in every aspect. The main difference in our ways is the different interpretation of the _beskar'gam_. Your tribe lived among others, among _aruetii_. They were and are not allowed to see our faces. It is your protection and it was ours. Look out and tell me what you see.”

He did look out of the window overlooking a great portion of the buildings occupied by tribe members.

“ _Aliit_. No _aruetii_. That is the difference. The wars split us thin – into different groups – each seeking the right way to preserve and protect us as a people and the Creed. Those who followed the Death Watch were one group. There were and are others. We might have been split and dispersed, but we have not been eradicated. As long as we find ways to follow the Creed and accept that there are different ways we will not march into oblivion. This is our strength. _Kot’parj_ ”

At the mention of Death Watch he had become still. Many of their _vode_ had been members. They were the hardliners, some even said the war mongers. And depending on which fraction one had belonged to, they were not received kindly.

The Zabrak was right, only unified they would be able to rise again – one day. Listening to the older man had quieten him down.

“Living in this relative peace we found our bonds stronger with knowing us, not only as a tribe but as a family. And this is why this tribe honours the Creed even though we do not wear our helmets constantly. We haven’t been like this from the very beginning, the changes came throughout the years. And believe me when I say, sometimes I just take mine and wear it even in here, just to remind myself that there had been different times.”

He could hear a certain melancholy in the tall man’s voice and so he lifted his visor and studied him closer. He had never been that close to a full blood Zabrak and the man was an impressive appearance. At least two heads taller than him, muscular yet without losing the air of a lean and swift fighter. His head was crowned with several horns. Most striking were the set of bigger ones which bent back and sat on either side of his forehead. In between, starting on his forehead and arranged in a V-shape, five smaller horns adorned him. Another set of three also v-shaped middle sized ones were set on the crown of his head.

Around his hairline the first band of tattoo ran linking the large horns. Along his brows ran the other line also reaching to the curved horns. Where the line lead up a triangle coloured his skin down to his brows, giving him a constant saturnine look. Between the lines a triangle sat pointing down. Both lines and triangle were broken in a direct line with his straight nose. Two more black lines followed his cheekbones. Thick lines from either side of his square chin led up to these, cutting through the hollow of his cheeks.

Along the neck more lines were visible and he suspected that the whole torso, if not the whole body of the man was covered in tattoos. His hands were large and strong and when he gazed at the nails he had the impression that if the man didn’t keep them short they would rival any predators’ claws. Most intriguing was the man’s preference of hairstyle. Raven black long dreadlocks found their way between the horns and down the man’s back to the small of his back. A helmet for this Mandalorian must be a sight to behold. A childish impulse made him wish he could see it.

Fascinated he had been taking in everything when their eyes met again. He swallowed as a cold shiver ran down his back. This warrior didn’t need a helmet to look intimidating, his fiery eyes were enough. The dark amber iris seemed to become lighter, the fierceness increasing as those jet black pupils stared him down.

But it was time to tell him why he and those still left on the ship would not give up their helmets. The explanation would be simple enough, the reaction on it he could only guess: “Many of my covert, when they were foundlings, had been rescued and taken in by members of the Death Watch.”

He had been right, the irises brightened in their fire, seemingly burning holes into his visor. He couldn’t allow himself to back down now. He rose to a stand: “Names are normally not given outside our tribe. But you are my host and I owe you. I’m Tharam Tern, Clan Vizla.” Though he kept his pose unthreateningly, the stance of the Zabrak tensed alarmingly.

The question came like a growl and made the hair at his neck stand: ”Like Pre Viszla?”

But he wouldn’t back down. The days of rest had helped him to heal and he was back at his normal to nine tenth. “No, like Shae Vizla. Mandalor the Avenger.” He had a right to be proud of his ancestor, no matter how much time had passed. And over 3.000 years were a long time. “Is that a problem?”

His own stance had changed ever so slightly. Only the creak of his flak vest gave away the alteration of his weight and body.

“There have been rumours about Death Watch,” the Zabrak stalked closer, confident and the anger rising in him. Every accusation a snarl rumbling off his chest: “Rumours about Death Watch being unhonourable. Rumours about Death Watch attacks. Attacks killing innocents und unsuspecting. Attacks to gather foundlings.”

He had stood his ground until they stood mere inches apart, chest to chest. His head lifted to gaze into the fires burning down on him: “I know nothing of what you claim. No Mandalorian would do such a thing. I state it is an outright lie.”

“You call _me_ a liar?” The challenge was there.

“Do you have proof for what you said? If not, they are lies,” it was easier to dismiss these accusations than to even take them into consideration. As far as he was concerned all the foundlings their covert had taken in were orphans of war, inflicted by either side, mostly the Imperial.

“Have you never wondered where all the foundlings came from,” the finger that stabbed at his cuirass didn’t make him flinch nor stagger, he had been prepared, his weight had been adjusted.

He swatted the hand away: “How would I know! I was not even old enough to be allowed in the training circle! What would a youngling know about politics! I barely remember anything of the Siege of Mandalore let alone of those outrageous denunciations! Those in our tribe were not orphaned by Death Watch but saved.”

It was his turn to make the Zabrak back up, not that a wall would actually yield: “Have you ever woken up next to a foundling screaming in their dreams! Being haunted by those separatist droids in nightmares! Have you ever heard them crying for their parents in their sleep and begging them to not leave you! Have you ever seen their reactions to those damn droids for the rest of their lives! Have you ever heard those who had been to the battlefields on the planets relate what they have seen! I have! And I believe what my _buir_ told me! And he was not a liar!”

With every sentence his chest had heaved and his fist had punched against the taller man’s chest piece – right into his _Ka’rta Beskar_ : “Every! Kriffing! Night!” Even in the fighting corps! I was woken up! Next to my _vod_ D …!”

Having been about to expose a name shut him up: “Don’t ever call me or my _buir_ a liar!”

He was panting. The wall stood motionless, only the amber eyes burnt. He saw them move slowly, warily. Both large hands came to a rest on his shoulders. “ _N'eparavu takisit_. Enough pain has been inflicted. I’m sorry for unbolting yours.”

He turned on his heels and left the dwelling, staring into the distance. His mind roamed over those days. The small dark haired boy with the even darker eyes in his red robes. The foundling that had always given everything in combat training when they were with the fighting corps. The young bounty hunter who had helped to provide for the tribe. The experienced man who had saved his life when the search for his first quarry had gone terribly wrong. More than once he had heard his modulated voice grate out the word _droids_ in hate.

He hadn’t heard him come out to join him. But there he stood, at the periphery of his helmet. Something black glinted in the crook of his arm. A black helmet.

The Zabrak eyed him and said only one word: “Spar?”

He understood. He appreciated. A way to unleash the unbolted emotions and clear them in an honourable way. Together they went towards the training circle. With some luck their sparring would go unnoticed. If not, he didn’t care. He became eager to see the taller man with his catlike movements in action.

And then he did get to see it. The helmet’s was designed completely different. Two hinges on either side were its closing mechanism, sealing smoothly around the more prominent horns and displaying them. Where the smaller ones were hidden beneath, their likes protruded outward in Beskar. Where her armour was matt his shone.

They entered the ring after dispatching of every weapon and their vambraces, they clasped their forearms, stepped back and went into their respective fighting stance. Each man taking in and assessing the other. Strength, stamina and agility. Techniques and skills. Each man formidable in his own right. Punches, kicks, levers, throws. They matched each other time and time again – and as their sparring continued neither saw it in him to actually make the other yield. This was not about bringing the other to heel. This was about finding their calm middle. This was about mutual respect.

When they finally stood bent over and panting, they knew it was enough. When they looked into each other’s visor this time a low chuckle slowly found its way. They had found their way out of their quarrel and they laughed, both, and it felt good. They hadn’t had any onlookers. To their quiet fight no one had come. So they both startled when they heard a single pair of hands clapping slow applause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buir: parent, father, mother  
> Su'cuy: Hi  
> Aliit: family, clan  
> Vod: mate, comrade, sibling  
> beroya: bounty hunter  
> N'eparavu takisit: sorry (lit: I eat my insult)  
> Jetii: Jedi  
> Darjetii: Sith  
> beskar'gam: armor  
> Aruetii: foreigner, outsider  
> Kot’parj: strength wins


	18. Yellow is recollection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recollection is painful. For some it is a personal experience, others learn only by being told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets emotional (hopefully enough for tissues) at the end. If loss esp. of a child is a trigger please proceed with care towards the end.
> 
> songlist:   
> 1) Disturbed - The light https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_LypjOTTH6E&list=PLyCOzA7tra23LJ-0fUOih-TehNEM_uiEf&index=10  
> 2) Floor Jansen - Nemo (acoustic) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FC7HYfc5y0A  
> 3) Nightwish - How is the heart (acoustic) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYtkPpFYzOo  
> 4) (reveleations) Wardruna - Lyfjaberg https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEizKmZlUAw

She had waited, even dozed off, waited more and he hadn’t returned. The day drew on and she started to feel restless and undressed. Neither blanket nor towel would do if she wanted to stretch her legs. Still she had nothing else. Not correct, there was still her drenched armour – somewhere. She had to find Ron or Sharjea.

Wrapped in her towel she padded to the private quarters’ door and knocked. It took some time before Ron opened, with a bright smile as he saw her: “Good to see you up again.”

“I can’t lie around anymore, but I can’t find my things….,” she didn’t get much further.

“Oh, yes, yes. Sure. No worries. Sharjea took them and gave them a wash.” She smiled and shook her head. Yes, it had always been like that. She came in with some tear, cut or a broken bone and Sharjea had mended her clothing while she stayed to heal up.

It only took a moment and Ron was back with a heap of clothing and armour. “Here, almost as new.” She rose her eyebrow: “Yeah, just two new patches or stitched holes. Sooner or later I need real new ones.” She let her fingers wandered over the stitched up holes and further over older patches. She didn’t want Ron to get any impressions and so she pulled herself out before her recollection went too deep.

She went back to her infirmary room and shook out of the towel. Before she pulled on the undergarments she inspected the damaged areas on her body. Lifting her arm with her with the punctured deltoid was still to be avoided. She turned to the mirror to inspect where the knife had penetrated. She was happy with the progress and the scars would be relatively small.

When she was done with donning her undergarments, flight suit, flak vest and armour she stepped into her boots and laced them up. Along with the clothing she had been given back her arsenal of weapons. With them tucked in their proper places she felt whole again, still weak and worn out by the simple task of dressing, but whole again.

She stepped out carefully and purposefully. Life had her back. Her way led her to her father’s hut, yet from afar she could see the window was dark and the door stood ajar. Nevertheless she went inside and looked around in case he had left a message. But then why should he. He would expect her to be still in the med hut. She wondered where he could be as they hadn’t crossed paths on her way.

Where should she go first in her search. Mentally she measured each distance and likeliness of his whereabouts, she didn’t want to over-exercise herself yet. She came to the conclusion, if his habits hadn’t changed, that he might have headed to the training pit for an individual late evening work out.

She heard the grunts and clanks of armour as she drew closer. When she was within view she saw her father’s black armoured arms locked around the green-blue armour in a subduing hold. But the younger warrior threw his arms up and, though he had to twist to escape the joint-hurting clasp, slipped beneath his arms. He came up fast, launching himself at the taller man in a sideways pointed jump, using the higher centre of gravity to unbalance him. He didn’t close in but glided back. They started circling each other before the next attack.

Her yes quickly searched the edge of the ring until she saw the heap of weaponry. With a sigh of relief she found herself a bolder to sit on and watched the spectacle for what it was – a sparring. Before she had felt a pang of anxiety as the two men she had come to trust and like were fighting each other, but knowing now that it was just sparring she enjoyed the display of dexterity, alacrity and strength.

She savoured that her father had found a match for his skills, he had rarely lost any sparring to the other members of the tribe. They were good and strong, no one would deny that. But what the heavy infantry was to the Nevarro covert, her _buir_ was to the Ossus tribe. An invincible force of proficiency.

She could hear their exhausted pants, their movements had become weary and worn, their grips on the other sluggish and lax. They were drained, then she heard the chuckles start and turn in to laughs. She smiled and rose. While walking down to the pit she gave them the applause this performance earned.

Obviously they both hadn’t anticipated any audience. Somehow these two grown men behaved as younglings found with their hands in a jar of _uj'ayl_. And her heart widened at them. She entered the ring and walked up to them.

The Zabrak intercepted and caught her in a bear hug. Only when he heard her wince of pain he lessened his embrace before he let go to instantly get rid of his helmet. He all but tore it off and when his face revealed exactly the matching expression to her imagination she just shook her head in a resigned laughter.

-*-*-*-

The conversation had gone from bad to worse. The mentioning of the Death Watch had started a confrontation he hadn’t meant to take place. Neither had he wanted to call anybody a liar, he had just related rumours. What had come then he wasn’t prepared for. Though he was not yet sure if the man, who named himself Tharam, had been a foundling, one thing he had made clear, what the fate of at least one foundling had been. Tern, clan Vizla. A thousand year old tradition. A clan neither siege nor purge had wiped out. It was good to know that being a creed and not a people prevented their extermination.

The younger man’s emotions had run high when he related his story about his youth and experiences, as high as to almost slip a name. He had literally felt the man’s determination roll off him. He hadn’t backed down, quite to the contrary. There hadn’t been many who dared to stand up to him, let alone touch him – repeatedly – in even a threatening manner. But Tharam had and his words were laced with anger and haunted pain. This had caused him to keep still instead of tearing the younger man apart right there in his hut.

The man’s retreat was tactical and had nothing to do with fear. He watched the younger warrior as he stood outside. His head was tilted back, just like back in the ring when he had held the limp body of his daughter. This time the cry of anguish went out silently. He knew what was needed to uncoil the man, to uncoil the both of them. He knew how raw they both felt and overstimulated by emotions. He had grinned at the prospect, nothing a good sparring couldn’t sweat out of a man’s body.

And the Nevarro warrior did uncoil, he could fight and he did fight. When they circled and seized up the other the made sure that they limp did not return to the stance of the younger man. A few stabs and punches were meant to warm up. Soon they found a rhythm of punch – parry – punch – evade, a good way for him about the techniques the foreigner knew. Then he took a step back. He wanted to find out how strong Tharam’s legs were and what he had in store. Again he wasn’t disappointed.

When he stepped back the next time both knew warm-up was over. Their punches and kicks did come in earnest then, exploiting weak defences instantly. Constantly seeking to get the better of the other. It took some time, but when he realized that again they had found a rhythm, he went along and simply enjoyed and started to concentrate on learning from the man from the other tribe. He definitely had some tricks in store.

It was the first time that he felt he had finally found a worthy opponent. He didn’t have to restrict himself. He didn’t feel only half warmed up before the opponent already yielded. He wondered what was actually under the helmet human or humanoid and his mind shifted through the humanoid species known for their power and agility.

Having worn out themselves had grounded them again. And he knew despite their disagreement before they could sit at a table again. The laughter was proof and another way of release. But it came short in both men when they heard the other sound join in.

He should have known better, yet it startled him to see his daughter up and on her way towards them. Obviously she had been watching their sparring from some point. Her clapping was measured but earnestly meant. She applauded both of them. Both of them had stood straighter, prouder at having been worthy to the other. But the _mirshmure'cya_ and hug was only meant for him – her father.

He could feel her relief and joy of being able to finally see him again. It had been years since she had left Ossus, and he didn’t like the idea of her leaving any time soon again. But he knew she would leave, with this green-blue Mandalorian and whoever was still on her ship. Now that she was recovered he would make the most out of their reunion.

He had slung his arm around her shoulder as they made their way back to his dwelling: “It is good to have you back. Later I will tell you about the meeting. But you might be able to guess by yourself what it was like. Nothing hasn’t changed since you left.”

“Lots of quarrelling, shouting and disagreeing. And the tribe is still, or again, divided. And I’m the cause of it again.” She hadn’t sounded too concerned, careless even. It told him how detached she had become. Was the tribe the only thing she had become detached from or was there more?

“I had worried when you didn’t send coms anymore,” he tried to just mention it and leave the hurt out of his voice, but she knew him too well.

“ _Ni ceta_! I couldn’t. There was … too much I … had to deal with. But I’ll make up for it. I will tell you now that I’m here.” He heard her reluctance and looked over to the Nevarro warrior, he guessed he would be part of the story she was to tell.

“First let’s get cleaned up and then we eat.” He saw her look and her raised eyebrow and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

After they had reached his home he let his guest have his go at the fresher first. As soon as they were alone he hugged his daughter again, as tight as he dared, placing a tender kiss on her forehead. “Is there anything you want me to know?” he dipped his head back towards the fresher.

He read her face as astonishment and puzzlement, he had to clarify. “I ask because of the way he acted.” And he told her how the Nevarro warrior had given up his cover, of his rush towards the ring and his struggle to get to her when she fell, of his bloodcurdling scream, his fussing and how they had to keep him out of the way to have her treated, and his constant watch keeping. And she turned, very quiet and a shade of pink.

When she told him about how they had met, how she had hurt him and his antics on her ship in a very quiet voice, it was his turn to lift his brow and remain silent. He pulled her into his hug again.

The silence was filled with the fresher room opening. And as he was about to have his turn when he saw her turning to the kitchen area and getting busy there. Was he wrong in assuming that she was averting his guest?

-*-*-*-

The shower was refreshing and while lathering he took stockage of the bruises to come. They hadn’t made it easy on each other and with a grim smile the guessed that the older warrior would have some bruises of his own. The sparring had reminded him of better times in the covert when he had worked out with Paz. But unlike the heavy infantry, who very much relied on his pure power in a hand to hand combat, the Zabrak had been dangerously lithe, quick in his retaliations and precise in his techniques to unbalance him. He had noted some moves unknown to him and he tried to memorize them.

He came out of the shower fully dressed and saw them standing together – a picture of peace and family and his guts knotted. He averted his eyes and strolled over to the reclining area, but he took stock of her retreating to the kitchen part. She busied herself with the preparation for dinner and only after a while he wandered over and offered his help.

She had shown him the utensils to set the table for three and left him to it. As he arranged them he wondered how he could wriggle himself out of the situation this time. Having to eat in company of one was something he had managed so far. It had always been done in haste and with a squished feeling of his heart, but he had managed. But with two others, he felt cornered.

He was so deep into his thoughts that he only realized her presence when she actually pushed the fabric in his hands. He blinked at her not comprehending her intention.

“I’m sure my father has told you that we haven’t been not always so … ermm … revealing.” She had nodded upwards to the rafters. The light reached only dimly there, but he could make out some hooks. The fabric had matching loops. So this was his way out. He was thankful that a solution had been found. It would still be a foreign sensation, but he felt more at ease than before.

He had to get on a chair and she did also, working together to drape the sheet, unfolding it and separating thus the table in two sections. She then re-arranged the plates he had set: two on the long side of the table and then she walked around the table to place his a single one on the other side.

As she walked round he brushed past him. He could barely stop his hand from reaching out and brush over her back. What he did allow himself was a deep inhale to catch her scent, like dark honey and flowery yet earthy, a meadow in bloom after a rain shower, it was intoxicating to him. He wanted more than just a whiff.

She caught it – him, because she turned abruptly. All at once he felt the embarrassment creeping hot red up his neck. Tilting his head he shrugged: “Sorry for not having come. I – we got side-tracked.” He began to ponder what and if to tell her about the reasons for their time in the ring. As he kept silent her head came to a tilt and there was this rising eyebrow again. He smirked beneath his helmet, a quirk she had picked up from her father, though with his tattoos this expression had an even better effect. Hers was not as menacing, yet still tantalising

It was only fair that he should tell her too – his name – but it didn’t feel right. Not here, not now. Despite their different perceptions of the Creed he was sure that his name was safe with the Zabrak: “Your _buir_ and I. We had talked and … ermm … maybe argued a bit.

“Argued? Maybe?” He wasn’t doing well on this front and she let him know.

“Well, yes, we disagreed over something.”

“The Creed.” There was need to deny that, it was too obvious for her to not pick up on it.

“Your father suggested a sparring to…”

“ … to calm down again.” There was amusement in her voice and eyes. “And did it work for you as well?”

“Yes, it did. Think I learnt a thing or two.” He remembered her way to fight in Nevarro and suddenly saw the similarities. A variation, fitting her size and strength, but the similarity was there. Her _buir_ had been a good teacher.

“I bet you did. But do not get any strange idea, I can still whip your sorry ass.” There it was again her boastful rebelliousness.

“I can at least try,” he snorted. Matching her defying tone. Yet he was glad that the Zabrak chose this exact moment to leave the fresher.

Sitting like that, sharing a meal, separated yet together, had him sit at the edge of the chair. Despite the helmet resting on the table within his reach he caught himself staring at the hanging fabric whenever the slightest of breezes made it ripple. He was used to gulping down his meals, so he did it now too. This was he why could only savour the rest of the taste in his mouth and it was unfair to the skills of the cook, but he didn’t know how to do better.

His hands had already gripped his protective headgear again. He weighted it in his hands and gazed at its blue visor. He tilted the helmet in various directions to have the light play in the dark tainted glasslike material. No, now was still not the time. His voice should be clear and unmodulated – he realized that was exactly the way he wanted her to hear his name. But he wanted more, he wanted her to see also his face when he said it. His exhale came with a sigh of disappointment. It would take longer than he might account for.

He had listened to some whispered words and he knew that not only he needed time to reflect on things but they – father and daughter reunited after a long time – needed theirs too. It was easy for him to find an excuse, which wasn’t one at all. The time in the ring and the sores that came with it were best slept off. Still being a guest of the Zabrak he excused himself and closed the door to the small bedroom. He walked over to the window and opened it. The breeze was refreshing and comforting so he pulled the chair closer and sat with his legs up on the sill. He placed his helmet in his lap and stared out into the stillness. This planet, despite its barrenness had its beauty.

-*-*-*-

When the Nevarro Mandalorian had left she knew that she couldn’t stall any longer. They kitchen and table were clean again and the expectant look in her father’s eyes made her grind her teeth.

“Shall we … like … talk now?” There was not much she could hide from him, so why should she start now. Something that had been always good to know was that he was a very patient listener. He wouldn’t interrupt her. He would give her the time she needed. He would only give her hand, which he would hold hers throughout the time she needed, a tiny squeeze, to continue or to elaborate. It had always been like that.

She settled herself on the sofa and he joined her. He held out his huge hand and she placed hers on top - fingers curled and interlaced – she was grounded and could begin. Still she kept quiet, she didn’t know where to begin.

After a long time just sitting next to each other the prompted: “You should have given yourself time to heal before you left.”

It was true, the last attack of Vas and Tiani had hurt her not only physically: “It wouldn’t have mattered. As they would have just waited for their next opportunity. No, it was a good time to leave. But I hadn’t been at your side when…. “

She didn’t want to refer to the time when they had become refugees: “I know, back then you already said that it wouldn’t have made any difference. But… “

“You had your crew and I was glad for it. You sounded content, even happy……” he wanted to know more but he didn’t know how he could make her talk.

“No, I didn’t have them by then. It ended with Yavin. Everything ended for me with Yavin. I had nothing left after Yavin. The only thing I could do was scrape the rests and move on. Yavin deprived me of everything I had … after I had left here. The ship, Juann and Mayh. They at least died in each other arms. I had to cling to an armour, a corpse and …. “

The hand round hers squeezed and held it tight: “I had loved him. I had taken so much time to understand it. I had lost so many precious years and then finally as I had allowed myself to accept it ... he was ripped from me.”

“ _Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_ , … Juann, … Mayh, … Denx.” He did remember the fallen man’s name. She had to compose herself again and her father’s soft whisper helped her to accept once again what it meant to lead the life of a warrior.

“When all was over I searched for them, retrieved them and brought them to Concordia. Juann and Mayh … I set their pyres there. They had wanted it … that way. Denx, I brought … I still have his last holo … like all the others … I still keep them … he … after Yavin he wanted to show me a place where we …. we could have lived there … he wanted to retreat with me there … a life in peace … with a family … our children … I … lost it … ours … there ... I didn’t know … only when … after his pyre … it had only been a few weeks … I …..”

His hand had become an iron grip. And when he embraced her she climbed over and into his lap, cradled by him like a child, and she let her tears drench his shoulder. Her body-shaking sobs caught by his arms as he pressed her against his chest.

When he tilted his head back his own tears over their – hers and his – loss left wet trails along his cheeks.

Behind a closed door hazel-green eyes glistened and blinked, releasing their salty liquid, tousled dark brown hair sank and rested on a green-blue helmet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buir: parent, father, mother  
> uj'ayl: thick scented syrup used in cooking  
> mirshmure'cya: Keldabe kiss  
> Ni ceta: sorry (lit: I kneel) grovelling apology – rare  
> Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum: Daily remembrance of those passed on *I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.* Followed by repetition of loved ones' names.


	19. Yellow gains insight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insight is essential for everybody. Sometimes it might be too late to for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning same as chapter before: child loss implied
> 
> songlist:  
> 1) Warduna - Norupo https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7PBo83bPyOE  
> 2) Pain of salvation - pilgrim https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1BIbZ1ucSYo  
> 3)(travel to temples) Ayreon - The dream dissolves https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IThJz2pFCvg&list=RD6rJJoXeh9Qc&index=2  
> 4) (in temple) ayreon - castle hall https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0usDwDIBIv0

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But in the silence all around him he could only but overhear. He had even put on his helmet again to drone out her monotonous voice. Still it had sneaked in underneath, the voice that more and more drowned in sobs, until he tore his helmet off again. Each broken word cracked within him and broke off a bit of himself too.

He had heard some of it before, back down in the tunnels of Nevarro, he had recognized her turmoil back then. But here he heard more – all. It didn’t matter that she failed to fill the voids, she had filled much more than before. Dark lurking pictures sneaked up and into his mind. He had guessed and feared that more had been beneath. And there he was, unwillingly witnessing her ultimate losses of a love and a youngling unborn.

He understood now what the holo meant for her. A reminder, a memory, a pain. Neither she was willing to let go. Only the ship had moved on all these years. She was still stuck in her spiral of suffering. It submerged in her mood changes and in her rage. The only way she knew to uncoil what was wrapped in her.

He heard the wooden floor creak under a double weight and the sound led to the room next to him. The steps that came back were lighter. He just opened the door a bit, the slightest sliver of light from the living quarters made its way through the crack as he stood with his back against it.

“Dargak,” his inquiry was a whisper but using the Zabrak’s name assured him the man’s attention and a low hum was his answer.

“I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help it. I heard.” He really didn’t know why he confessed his eavesdropping, but to him it felt right to do so.

The weight that added to the door told him that the taller man had moved and mirrored his position. Just the thin planks of wood separated their backs.

“Have you known?” The man’s voice was thick and coarse.

“No, not all. The crew and Denx yes, but not ….” Why was it so hard to say it out loud. Because every youngling meant a future and she had been deprived of it.

“If you can solace her, do so. If you ever hurt her … heart, I will tear yours out and make you watch as I rip it apart.” His inhale was sharp and he felt the thunder against his chest. This threat was not hollow.

“I don’t think that she’s int …” The push against the door was just enough to get his attention. It was not meant to force it open and to intrude, just a small catcher of interest.

“Get your helmet and come outside, we need to talk.” There was that growl back in the Zabrak’s voice. It was not really a request, more or less it was an order. He got his helmet and quietly walked outside to meet the man who had raised her.

They walked for a short time in complete silence until they came to a river. He could already the rush of the quickening waters and as they went on they came to a cascade of several small waterfalls.

“She has always liked this place. She said the sound of the water and the rush of the waterfalls calm her.” He took in his surroundings more carefully. In a rough sense there was beauty and with the moon reflecting where the water was shallow and not gushing by, it had the quality to calm.

He was shaken out of his musings. Her father had grabbed his shoulders and turned him back around to face his tattooed features.

“I want to hear your story. Indulge me with details, if you please.” Despite the polite choice of words it was more a warning. The Zabrak was his prosecutor, his judge and if need be his headsman – if need be on these premises.

“I walked in on her on Nevarro, we both rounded a corner: She was in a rush, we crashed into each other. As we … I found out she had been to the guild to get a job and they sent her to … an Imperial. We didn’t learn what had happened there. When we – she and I – met I was on my way to get provisions for the tribe. But she attacked me more or less immediately. I didn’t have much chance to talk … and she, with her hood up, I didn’t know that she was one of us. I guessed though … the sound of armour. On Nevarro we were the only ones. … She got the better of me – this vamblade, never seen anything the like before and well … before I knew she had put it twice into me and sent me back down the stairs.”

“This does not yet explain how she ended up with you.” The yellow eyes, still slightly rimmed with red, came even closer.

“My … our heavy infantry went after her – he had seen my … ermm … fall. And he came back with her.”

“Just like that? After she had struck done one of your own?” the doubt was loud.

“No, our _alor_ told him to bring her. So he did. She had been wounded – days old wounds – and our healer treated her.” The pain in his shoulders became unbearable and he flinched beneath it and groaned in pain.

“When we met … we were just preparing all means to get off Nevarro. Our presence had been compromised. We had to reveal ourselves to save one of us.” He tried to roll his shoulder under the Zabrak’s grip of steel.

“Why did you have to help him?” _If the angry face were hidden under his helmet this words would be completely distorted by a helmet_ – he thought and grimaced under his own as he heard the snarl.

“He broke the guild code and they went after him and his asset.” Only a slight quiver indicated the Zabrak’s tensing, but his own shoulders burnt anew.

“Have you seen it … the asset?” He had to pause to recollect. With his jetpack he had been landing on one of the roofs, using his vantage point to shoot at the other hunters in the street. The broken down droid sled was directly beneath him. They _beroya’s_ body was flat on the sled, draped over something – a tiny body.

“No, not for sure. What I saw was wrapped up and tiny.” He had to speak up so that the vocoder could pick up his voice: “It might have been a child.” With this small distance his ears rang with the Zabrak’s roar: “A CHILD!”

He went down on a knee to escape the crushing grip, the pain had become intolerable. Did this warrior try to crush his bones? He was no longer to endure it: “I. Don’t. Know. Haven’t seen or talked to the _beroya_.” He had had enough, grabbing the Zabrak’s thumbs he forced them steadily back until the man’s grip broke, then he rose to a stand again.

“We revealed ourselves and before we knew what hit us the Imperials closed in on us. Your daughter helped us. To get the foundlings out and … besides me … only four of our tribe made it out … alive … as far as we know.” He had gestured with his hand in the vague direction of where the ship was and came to a hurried end.

When there was a long motionless silence between the two men he thought that their conversation was done then. He was wrong, the Zabrak had not forgotten what he initially had come out for. “Tharam, what is she to you?”

Again he was taken aback by the blunt approach Dargak took. Hearing his name the first time roll of the tongue of the taller man made him almost fidget. He couldn’t count the years since anyone had addressed him by his real name. It implied the severity of this question. He had to think about it and how should he explain once he fully understood himself.

-*-*-*-

So far he liked the younger man. He was authentic, honourable and truthful. But when it came to his only _ad_ , he wanted to be sure. But not in here, where she might overhear, just as he had done.

He had appreciated his honesty, but he wanted to know more about him and those who he supposed were still on her ship.

What he had heard so far had his blood boiling, step by step. When he heard about the child he almost lost it. Half of him was glad for the younger man’s evasiveness and skill to escape his grip – he couldn’t have let gone even if he had wanted to.

Despite having learnt about the circumstance of how and why they were together now, he still didn’t know enough about how far they were together. And his question was simple and clear: “What is she to you?”

He watched Tharam closely. The man’s whole posture froze and fidgeted at the same time. Was it the use of his name or the question itself? He would have to await the answer. The nervousness that rolled off the younger man increased as he stumbled over his first words.

“I … I’m … when I first met her … I mean we were just fighting … I didn’t know … “

He tried to give the man, who had started to shift his weight from one leg to the other, his most fatherly and unthreateningly look, which was much to ask for a Zabrak of his size and appearance.

“See, …. it is actually not easy to talk about … ermm … feelings … ermm … especially not … to the father. But ….”

He just nodded, indicating that he would continue to listen.

“Well, it is not like I don’t feel … attracted,” he shook his head, he was not happy with his choice of word. “But … the time has been so short … and I don’t want to … press her. It’s … if it’s just me … if I’m the only one … if she doesn’t … It’s not like …

He gestured for the green-blue clad man to continue: “It’s not like … what?”

“It’s not like … I’ve known that many women … before … They are … ermm … unreadable for me … it’s scary … sometimes.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, but he controlled himself. The younger man’s honesty was almost childlike and something warmed in him: “Indeed it can be. … There were not many women in the covert, or before?” In their tribe they were lucky, the men -women ratio was well balanced.

“No. Not many … none I would have liked to know better. And then I had been off world often ... with the beroya. And there … even if I had wanted … it’s not … people don’t like Mandalorians in general, especially not bounty hunters. I wouldn’t have liked … I mean….”

He tilted his head and eyed the man opposite who had started to reach beneath his shawl to rub and scratch the back of his neck. The more he talked the more he got side-tracked. He didn’t have the feeling that the Nevarro brave wanted to wind his way out, he just didn’t know how to come to the point. He obviously needed some help: “What do you feel … for her?”

“I … I c-care … I … w-when she’s t-there … it’s …. I f-feel …w-warm? He had raised his voice in a question although it was none. He didn’t know how to express himself and was scared to do so. Or was inexperienced.

A perverted streak in him started to enjoy the display of helplessness and insecurity in the man who he had not been able to overcome physically in the sparring: “Warm?”

“Yes … no.. I mean …it’s like … me …I’m .” He was becoming a total mess. He tilted his head back to the other side and pondered to let Tharam suffer some more.

But he whole posture of the younger man told him how close defeat was: “It’s like you feel you need her … to feel alive?”

A slow nod was his answer

“It’s like you hear your own heart … and it races and thunders?” Another nod.

“You wonder if others can hear its beat?” And the shoulders started to sag.

“You want to be as close as possible and that is not enough?” There was another nod.

“Her smell and the sound of her voice has your brain short-circuit?” He obviously had to think about this but then he nodded, slightly more intense than before.

He was guessing and mostly remembering his own love: “You fear what you do or say will diminish her opinion about you?” A barely noticeable nod. And slowly the helmet came down.

“Your body reacts with confusion and … more?” A strangely strangled sound was distorted by the vocoder. His body posture became defensive.

“What would you name it?” He had brought his head closer to the helmet, his voice a rumbled whisper.

“Love ...” The voice he heard was a rough rasp, the modulator hitched over it and had problems to pick up what followed: “… I-I’m falling … in love with her ... fell.”

The twitch in the corner of his mouth became wider: “Watch your heart closely and proceed with care. A wildfire will only leave you empty. Both of you. Give yourself and her time. She will not be conquered in a rush.”

“Don’t want to rush.” There was clarity in his voice.

“Then watch, listen, understand, learn, honour, and with time, she will respond. And if she sees you worthy, she will feel the same love.”

Before he turned to release the warrior of his emotional prison his smile turned severe again: “If you hurt her on purpose, I will be there.” An immediate, curt nod. Tharam had been listening attentively.

He knew it was her decision, and the eagerness in the younger man might not be too helpful, neither his clumsiness, but he was sincere. He thought that watching what might unfold would be a varied entertainment, if he judged his daughter right.

-*-*-*-

When the sun rays woke here she had a headache and her eyes felt swollen. The night’s sleep hadn’t been restful. The old dreams had come back and she felt exhausted. She made a mental list of things to do: fresher, caff and maybe another caff, just to be sure.

Then she grabbed her things and left her room to see if the fresher was free. It was, both men were sitting in the living area. She was looking forward to both her morning tasks, and by the smell of it her father hadn’t forgotten about her addiction to caff.

Having showered had revived her and when she got out of the fresher a mug steaming with the hot liquid sat waiting for her on the small table in front of the couch. Barefooted she padded over and sank down in the chair giving a curt nod to the men. Tharam was about to open his mouth when a quick shake of Dargak’s head told him to better not.

So both men watched in silence as she folded her legs beneath her, grabbed the mug and clung to it, her nose hovering over the rim, inhaling the beverage’s smell. A content sigh left her and she took first careful sips to not burn her lips or tongue.

Only when she set the mug back she addressed the men: “Vaar’tur. Any plans for today?” She knew the green-blue warrior wouldn’t have any. If it hadn’t been for her he would still be waiting in the ship providing the tribe there with fresh meat: “Wait. What are you actually doing here? Why are you not at the ship?” It irked her that she hadn’t thought of that earlier.

“I errm I was, but then I saw you and … ermm … followed. I was curious. This planet didn’t look inviting enough for a sightseeing tour. When you left with the two Mandalorians I wanted to see where you …”

She had to prompt him with a nod of head to continue.

“And, well, I saw your fight with them and … ermm … kinda stayed.”

She wondered why he had looked to her father and felt like something was going on between the two men she didn’t know of. This irked her more. But she had made her plan already, she would again follow this notion. And it told her to seek the old library.

“Whatever, I have plans for today. Buir, I’d need the speeder to go to the old library. I ….”  
Her father’s answer came quickly: “No. We don’t know if it is safe. Too much has happened there.”

She sighed: “That was already ages ago when you came to live here. I have to go there … I told you … this feeling that I have, to be somewhere for a purpose.”

It took her more argumentation to convince the Zabrak. And the reluctancy with which he finally agreed made her smile victoriously. What she hadn’t counted on was his next move: “ Fine, go and be careful. But you will have reinforcement with you.”

She groaned indignantly: “Him?!” It was incredible. Why should the warrior of the Nevarro tribe have to tag along. If the library showed any life signs she wouldn’t go near it, he had made her promise that. So why company. If there was any danger it would be much easier for a single person to disappear. She knew her ways around Ossus, he didn’t. He would be a millstone around her neck. But in the end she had to agree.

-*-*-*-

Of course she had insisted on steering the speeder, and he could all but jump up behind her before she left without him. He barely saw the her father’s shaking head, but he heard his laugh, before they were off in a rush

It was as a ragged planet as Nevarro with just as little vegetation. But there the predominant colours had been red and black due to the lava streams. Here on Ossus it was white for the snow on the ragged blueish-black mountains and orange for the tawny sand that seemed to be everywhere where no rocks and stones were. Karst stone let the water seep away into the underground and it gathered in large lakes or cascaded down in waterfalls which interrupted the small rivers.

He looked up and saw two suns, but unlike on Tatooine they were far away, not burning as hot and plunging the world around him in an unreal orange light. The azure sky was flecked with white clouds.

On one mountain ridge, too far away for him to be sure, a skeleton of a huge starship rusted. The further they went on, the more of the destroyed construction he could see. Also some formerly dome-shaped buildings could be seen in its vicinity.

Again he had to strain his eyes to make something out. Then he saw the huge arches with what seemed the rests of a construction hanging off on each side. Only the gigantic archways were left over, in between nothing. Once it had described a straight line to something that looked like an immense temple like building. By what he saw he guessed that it must have been a kind of way leading between the mountains and ravines.

Again and again they came across statues in various statuses of destruction. They seemed to have stood everywhere. Some lay broken in ravines, making a passing impossible, others lay sideways in the water of the lakes. Others still stood. They all looked similar – cloaked and hooded humanoid figures either with their arms crossed and hidden in their cloaks or with a kind of tube in their hand. Some tubes were longer, some had broken off just above the hands that held them.

Once he saw steep stone stairs, hewn from the rock, leading round a mountain. They started from a temple which was built into the stone of the mountain. The entrance alone was huge and he couldn’t imagine how far it must lead into the rock. Its entrance arches were still crowned by three cloaked and hooded figures holding swords, the outer ones in a defensive stance. More destroyed arches and ruins could be seen in front of the broken stairs that lead up to the temple.

They bade the next valley a wide birth and what he caught glimpses of was a sort of building, strewn in the vicinity thousand years old technological relicts and then he saw something flying.

He squeezed her arm to catch her attention and pointed. She slowed, looked and nodded. They had synchronised their HUD systems so he could her hear voice clearly in his helmet: “Geonosians, bugs. Better leave them alone.”

Finally they came to a huge lake, the waters were quite shallow and the fallen statues hadn’t sunk. When his eyes fell on the library he was awestruck. Like the temple it had been built into the rock of the mountain surpassing it. Everything was cast in a haunted silence. His helmet system didn’t pick up on any lifeforms.

The speeder took them up the large flights of stairs which was framed by a wide balcony: The balustrade had once been decorated with smaller versions of the statues he had already come across so often. They unmounted and he looked around, taking in the two watcher statues left and right of the stairs leading up to entrance with its intrinsic details on the stone frame.

He had to crane his neck to fully see up to the rows of arched galleries filled with statues and he could guess at the room behind it being huge.

Then he turned round. Vaguely he saw again the huge construction to which the arch-way had led, but what took his breath away was the view. Involuntarily he took some steps forward as he gazed at the snow-covered mountain range: “ _Mesh’la_!”

He felt her elbow hard in his ribs and followed her up the stairs with a grumble. The stairs were uneven, broken and full of holes, yet her step was sure, as if she walked these stairs every day. Slowly they entered.

Barely inside she staggered to the side. Her hands clutched her helmet. It took him only two wide steps to be at her assistance. His hands reached for her elbows as she swayed against his chest: “What is wrong?” The way he held her he could feel her whole body trembling.

“D-don’t k-know,” her voice sounded squeezed

“It was too early, you’re not fully healed yet.” He had been sceptical from the beginning, had supported her father and had wanted to delay.

“I am. ‘S diff’rnt, ” the way she sounded hadn’t improved, quite to the contrary. She was gasping for breath. And then she tore at her helmet. It came off with a soft hiss and clattered to the ground.

When she bent and clutched her knees he let go and stepped round her to face her. He had given their location a quick check, there was nothing to be seen, they were the only living beings.

When she slowly calmed down he had time to pick up the helmet and actually look. Light came through the tree stories and scattered light into the round room. In its centre it fell onto a tall figure. It was kneeling and like the others held a tube. This time he could see better. It was some kind of staff, broken halfway its length.

What made him inhale sharply was trails of a spiralling mist trailing up the length to what might have been the original size. Blindly he reached back for her arm and squeezed it. He heard her inhale more clearly without the helmet. Stunned they both stood for what seemed an eternity and watched the ongoing spiral.

It was hard to tear their eyes from the mesmerising twirling, but she was more than restless. He was worried about her, but she pressed on. It soon got dark, broken braziers let him know how the ways had been lighted. He switched on the light of his helmet.

She was partly supporting herself with a hand on the wall and partly supported by his arms clutched round her free arm as they rounded one corner after the next. As they wandered through the desolated hallways, littered with rubble he had to steady her several times. The attacks of whatever it was that caused her dizziness had become more and more frequent the deeper they entered the building. When he felt her knees giving in he finally slung her arm round his neck and his round her waist.

Then they entered a huge hall – round, an arena, an amphitheatre. Steep stairs, made to sit on them, led down all around. She wanted to go down and he steadied her. Until she mis-stepped. She started sliding downwards and took him with her. Their armour clattered. Each step sent a stab of pain through his back as he hit jagged edges and slid down the next step. And the next.

Her weight pulled at him and his weight pushed her on. A panicking feeling heightened his adrenaline even more as he felt his arm skid from her waist upwards. She was slipping from his hold. Just in time his gloved fingers hooked underneath the back plate of her armour. He grunted his teeth as he felt the back of her head bounce against his arm sending the unprotected part painfully against the stone. His helmet hit several steps, he met each with a grunt, before they came to a halt.

They both groaned when they came to a halt several steps later. The protective armour had not much done to prevent hitting the jagged rims of the steps.

He just lay there until he felt the pain subside and tested his limbs. Everything was still working fully. When he turned his head towards her, he came instantly to kneel beside her. His arm had prevented her head from hitting the stone, he was sure of that, but when he saw her staring up wide-eyed and unblinking he wanted to call for her.

Her name. Which he didn’t have. She hadn’t given him any name to call her back to him: “No!”

He didn’t remember what he shouted. Everything was blurry before his eyes. What’s wrong?! Hear me! Look at me! _Cyare_! Stay with me! Where are you hurt? Can you hear me? No! Don’t leave me! _Ni kar’tayl gar_! He heard metallic, distorted calls, screams, sobs. Heard Basic and Mando’a. It couldn’t have been – who else – him.

He had ripped off his gloves and gingerly felt for broken bones along her limbs, along her neck. He was no healer, how would he know. His fingers went to her neck, under the scarf, searching blindly for a pulse, how would he know if it wasn’t his own.

His heart raced and with each pulse his helmet buzzed more and more. His pants came in rags, he pulled air in with his lungs, not enough. He needed more. His hands shot up, but he didn’t hear the clank of the metal on stone. His arms wrapped around her unresponsive form and pulled her upper body onto his lap. Her head tilted forward as he buried his head in the nape of her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alor: leader  
> beroya: bounty hunter  
> ad: child, son, daughter  
> vaar’tur: morning  
> mesh’la: beautiful  
> Cyare: beloved  
> Ni kar’tayl gar: I love you


	20. Yellow can be a revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old temples hold secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist
> 
> 1) (her POV, temple) Epica - dreamscape https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0P00Cbb0aVw  
> 2) (awake again) Sting - fragile https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lB6a-iD6ZOY  
> 3) (her POV) Madonna - Frozen https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XS088Opj9o0  
> 4) Tiamat - Gaia https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mOnn6qqR9y4

She remembered the library quite well. When she had still been a youngling it was forbidden to go there. Of course it had been a challenge to sneak out at night and venture as far as possible. One moonless night they had borrowed some speeders and darted off to it. The contest was, who made it in and how far.

She had failed utterly back then, the trembling had started at the entrance and soon she had been so overwhelmed by the imaginations and feelings that washed over her that she heaved in a corner. She was barely able to stumble out again before she broke down unconsciously.

Their village-break had been detected and some adults had come after them, angry, very angry. She had been the only one who hadn’t got punished – at first – for being the youngest of them all and the only one who had to be brought back in an unceremonious state.

The adults had fussed over her, and later her _vode_ had come back on her, they dealt the punishment which the adults hadn’t, notably Vas and Tiani. She had never ventured close to the temple again. Not until now.

She already felt the dread and pain storming in on her as she neared the entrance. When she was past the entrance she wanted to twist and jerk with the stabs she felt piercing her body.

Everything seemed to suffocate her and then she heard his voice like through a veil. But it gave her something to concentrate on. Warm gloved hands covered her elbows as the next wave hit her. She felt throttled, she had to get her helmet off.

The reassuring warmth left her, his form materialised in front of her vision. Bending, being closer to the ground sounded like a good idea. Her boots, she’d need to do something about that tear before it got bigger. Something else to concentrate on. The vibroblade needed some maintenance. Something else to … she tore at the scarf wrapped around her neck, she was about to be drowned again – warmth on her arm, tugging on her arm.

She rose to full height again. He was gazing upwards and she followed the line of his sight. Despite the fog clogging her brain she saw it. It stood out like a beacon. It was mesmerising and it pulled at her. She couldn’t look away, she couldn’t blink – there another tug, not from him. She had to go on.

The darkness of the hallways engulfed her. The light didn’t reach any further. But there was a flickering light, moving, stepping forward and backward like dancing – no fighting. One a menace, one a bliss. Both pulled her in.

And there was the steady, even though swaying, light of a helmet’s system. She felt forward with hand, along the wall. Warmth radiating on her arm. The pulls got stronger and then weaker, just to pick up in force again. It drove the breath from her, it sent her to her knees. Waves of cold made her shiver. Warmth enveloping her, steadying her.

The steep round hall was so foggy. It shimmered in mist. Curls of mist at its base, twirling, dancing, fighting with each other. She needed to go down to that huge heap of debris. The ground vanished under her feet. The mist darkened her vision. She was falling and hovering at the same time. Every muscle seemed to have relaxed of their own will. Nothing willed her muscles to work. She was floating in a sea of mist, the pull came from all sides, had her hanging suspended in a cloak of darkness It was taking away her breath and the next. There was no need for air here.

_There is no light without the dark – see it_

There was light, the helmet lights.

_Through passion you gain focus – answer it_

There is no passion left in me. Denx has been taken away.

_Through serenity you gain strength – accept it_

There is no serenity, not when everything has been taken from you.

_Through victory you gain harmony – gain it_

Which victory? Over what or whom?

_Through knowledge you gain power – receive it_

Wait! Which knowledge? What power?

_There is only the Force -seek it_

The push had her ribcage carve in. The pull had it rip outward. Her body flung violently – once. She heaved in breath with a hoarse scream and the back of her head connected with something – hard. She heard a muffled yelp of pain and mumbling. When she opened her eyes everything went immediately dark. Warmth over her face.

-*-*-*-

He didn’t feel anything – he forgot about time, he held her, clung to her – and then he felt it all at once – he didn’t want to lose her.

He mumbled, sobbed, jabbered and cried. The time with her hadn’t been enough. He soaked her hair, her loosened scarf, as he pressed her to his chest. He wanted to get to know her – all her. He choked on his wails and hiccupped. He wanted her to see him, to know him – all him.

He felt his arm round her chest loosen, losing contact – she was slipping from his embrace – then the felt her back in his arms. She jerked in a ferocious heave and his arms flew open. She screamed, she was breathing, she was back.

He felt the white searing pain at the impact: “OH shiiitmpf. Bfroke ma nopfe.”

Tears of pain shot into his eyes. She was awake! The pain was drowned in panicking realisation – his helmet was off. He reached wildly, swiftly clasping one hand over her eyes, with the other his dripping nose. He nudged his forehead against the back of her head.

“Donpf’t. Mopfe. Bleapfe.” He didn’t recognise his own voice, neither might she. But she didn’t turn.

“That you?” He understood that in the state she had been, she needed to orientate herself again.

“Hmmpf uhhu.” He tried to sniffle and crunched his face at the metallic taste that ran down this throat. Then he froze.

She did move. A tremble ran through him. Her arm moved upwards. He stared at it immobilised. Her hand hovered next to his temple. He didn’t dare to breathe – each breath knotted his chest tighter, his abdomen started to flap with his shallow gasps. She was waiting.

Then he moved – slowly and leaned against her palm, he had her back. More time to know her. Her hand was ice-cold, but he didn’t flinch.

She was breathing, he had her back. More time to make him known to her. He closed his eyes and let time trickle by. Time to let her see him. He wanted to say so much, but what he wanted say – its importance – would be muffled and distorted. It didn’t feel right, no this way. He would wait. He kept silent and revelled in her touch.

It was simple, a simple touch and it had him elevated, her had her back. Slowly her hand warmed to his cheek. He felt her fingers ghosting over his cheekbone and his breath became even and deep.

“Tears?” He jerked his head back with a grunt and droplets, translucent and crimson, rained down from his face into her hair.

He had to swallow several times and gazed at the hand that hovered where his face had rested. “PForry. Fhought lopft you.” Clutching his nose again he inched his head forward again. The hand was still there, waiting and he rested his forehead into it. It felt good, comforting, he didn’t want to miss it.

“We should leave.” She still sounded haggard. And he hated that she was restless again.

He only inched his gloved hand away from his face and eyed it: “PFew more mimumpff. PFtill dripping.”

It earned him a quiet chuckle, but then her hand moved over his temple and cupped his cheek again. His exhale came with a silent moan – almost – inaudible.

He felt her hand twitch ever so slightly, but she didn’t withdraw: “I’m sorry.”

-*-*-*-

She gulped every inhale and tried to associate the pain at the back of her head with its source. The pained groaning and sniffing behind her helped immensely to find back. And then there was this nasal mumbling of an otherwise beautiful sonorous voice. She smelt the leather of a glove cover her eyes and it helped to concentrate to decipher the slurred words. Then a warm hardness pushed softly against her head.

Recognition hit her, and realisation. It was the Nevarror warrior, he was kneeling behind her, she was lying against his Beskar. Under their covering her eyes widened. He didn’t wear his helmet!

Her instincts held her in place and the same instinct had her reach back. She had to be sure. Someone keeping so strictly to the Creed and yet he hadn’t his helmet on, her mind reeled.

No, this wasn’t right and she felt the shivers low against her back. She stilled the movement of her arm just as she felt the shiver under her increase. She pondered, thought and waited, and then she felt the warmth of flesh – his cheek.

If she hadn’t been so shocked she would have cried at the unbelievable sign of trust he showed her. It dawned on her how much he must have had overcome to allow the contact. His hurried and flat breaths became deeper and more regular. He was collecting himself

His warmth radiated into her hand, then something wet touched her fingertip. Softly she inched it over the high cheekbone and felt more wetness. She must have guessed correctly, because he suddenly broke the contact. Dumbfoundedly she upheld her posture and concentrated on the breathing that came from behind her back.

What he said, what she thought he said, struck her even more. She mulled over what it could imply. He didn’t know her at all, how could he grieve over losing someone he didn’t know? But her musing was cut short, he had sought contact again. She could feel the soft skin of his forehand and strands of thick shaggy hair. The ends tickled the back of her fingers and hand.

The pulling notion was returning, only now it felt like a pushing, it wanted her to leave. Only too willingly would she comply. The only problem was the helmetless warrior with his bleeding nose. She must have hit him unintentionally in the right spot.

She felt sorry although it was also amusing and somehow it felt right to cradle his cheek in her palm again. His breath spread warmth down her neck and a shiver up her spine. It was more than a breath, it was a sound of contentment and relish. Even more.

She cradled him in her palm, waited for him. For his running nose to stop until he could don the helmet again. In her restlessness he seemed to take his sweet time. Slowly she started to suspect that he took even more than that. At some point his head slightly twitched, rubbed his skin against her palm. But she couldn’t find it in herself to deny it. It felt calming, felt good, felt warm.

He slowly pulled back and obviously checked the state of his bloodied nose, then she heard the scratching of metal against stone. The grunt she was able to pick up was one of indignation. More scratching, he was trying to retrieve his helmet.

“Just get it, I won’t turn,” she even reached up and placed her hand to cover his. When he didn’t move she tugged his from under her palm. There was this slight tremble again, but he allowed his hand to be moved away and she placed her other hand also over her eyes.

His movement was quick then, and she heard the familiar hiss and click. Only when she felt both his hands slowly pulling hers from her face she removed her hands and tried to find a position to get up. She welcomed his helping hands and her helmet when he placed it in her hands. With it covering her head again, giving it a sense of protectedness, she felt she could make the way back.

Though the pushing sensation got weaker with every step, the flicking lights kept irritating her. It was better with the helmet on, but none of its settings could fade out completely this unperceivable surrounding. She was thankful for his steadying arm around her back, although her side might be sore the way his grip tightened whenever he thought that she was about to stumble or sway.

The low suns told her that quite a considerate amount of time must have passed since they had entered the temple. Only too gladly she would leave this place, to definitely never return.

The way home she took the backseat, he had insisted on it. It and was a wise decision. She felt drained and it was not long that she wrapped her arms around his tightening midriff and placed her helmet against his Beskar backplate, despite it she felt him tensing once more.

He must have chosen the easiest way as she soon felt herself drift into a snooze. It had taken them long, much longer than their way to the temple. It was already dark when the speeder slowed and came to a halt.

She opened her eyes and felt the warmth leave her arm. She was able to unmount the bike and stand on her own, yet her father’s arms embraced her and lead her in to the living quarter area to place her on the couch and undid the helmet for her.

She was awake, but too deep in thought to follow their conversation. Her mind was back to the temple. She could barely remember what the thing she had thought to be a voice had said. Left over were fragments and confusion. Strength gains victory – no, that wasn’t it. None made sense anymore. Only one thing was left. Most clearly left was the order to seek the Force, whatever that was.

When the mug with steaming caff was waving under her nose she folded her legs under her and reached out. Inhaling the scent brought her slowly to her senses.

-*-*-*-

He had busied himself throughout the day, but the closer the setting of the suns came the more often he found himself standing in front of his dwelling, looking towards the direction from where they were supposed to come. The look of annoyance and concern had more than one of the tribe, who passed by, ask for his well-being. When the moon had come out he didn’t bother going inside anymore. He simply pulled a stool out from his bedroom and sat outside waiting.

Then he heard the speeder, he was up and waiting with crossed arms, a deep frown had settled on his face. It didn’t lessen when he watched Tharam pull up carefully. His arm was clutched over hers to keep her steady in her doze.

“What happened? Bugs?” She lethargically lifted her head from his shoulders. Something was wrong with her.

“No, fomething elfe. Can’t explain, fhe can be better, I think.” The younger man sounded strange and seemed tired too.

After he had taken her inside and placed her on her favourite spot on the couch he turned to the man and gave him a thorough look-over. His whole body spoke of weariness and maybe even soreness. Droplets of blood where on his neck-scarf and his cuirass was smeared with red streaks and then his eyes fell on the dark gloves. He saw the blood stained right glove.

“Who’s hurt?” The man seemed to be shaken out of some reflection as his helmet gave a tiny jerk to gaze fully at him. Then the visor wandered searchingly down his body.

“No, no one’f hurt. Juft my nofe.” He huffed in a not so amused way: “Have to tfeck.”

His eyes followed Tharam, who stomped towards the fresher. A broken nose in a helmet? He had heard of different kinds of head injuries despite the headgear, but they were rare and immense force had to be inflicted for it to happen. But otherwise the man seemed to be uninjured.

The best way to have her back to normal was caff, so he started to make her a mug. He had to wave it under her nose several times before she came out of her distracted state.

He had to muster all the patience he had and wait until she at least was half way done with the steaming liquid. But then he couldn’t wait any longer. He remembered, back when she was young and had been brought home in an unconscious state from their escapade to the temple. If the temple hadn’t changed and she hadn’t changed, something similar must have happened. But it still didn’t explain a bleeding nose.

“What happened at the temple?” He couldn’t hold back any longer.

It was difficult to follow what she told, She tried to describe her experiences and feelings to him but it confused him.

“Wait. This is makes no sense. Let me ask you, maybe then it gets clearer for me. Was there anybody else?”

“No, we were all alone, but there was the feeling of many people there, only they weren’t.“

“What caused this feeling?”

“I’m not sure. Like back then, as soon as I came closer this thing started and got worse the deeper we went.”

He inhaled sharply: “You ventured further, although you didn’t feel well about it. That was stupid. How did you know that there had been people? Were there any remains?”

“Not that I remember, but I barely remember walking through the hallways. More clearly I remember that huge arena, but it was all in a mist and it made me dizzy.”

He scowled: “ Have you ever considered that there might be toxic gases?”

“No, not really. And he had been ok until I …..”

“Until you what?” He was getting closer to the man’s mysterious injury.

“I can’t really tell. I was like out and when I came to I must have hit him and then he was sitting there nurturing his bleeding nose.”

He shifted in surprise: “Wait! You hit him and he had a nosebleed from it? Just like that, in front of you, without his helmet?” Now this was incredulous and he was even more confused.

She waved him off: “ No, he sat behind me. When I woke up and then I somehow hit him and broke his nose.”

His mind worked hard: “That means he had the helmet off already.”

She nodded: “And then we waited until he could put on the helmet again.”

“Why had he removed his helmet?” He feared to make any guesses. There was only one plausible explanation for him and it hurt to think about it.

Her voice became husky: “Better ask him that.” He had hit a sore spot, because she gulped down the rest of the caff and went to her room.

He sat alone for some time. When Tharam came back his breast plate was clean again and his scarf had a large wet spot. He indicated to the younger man to sit with him.

“Now your story, and leave out the boring stuff,” he didn’t have to say more. He rested back on his chair, crossed his arms and he waited for quiet man to start.

Tharam sat with this elbows on his knees, kneading his gloved hands: “She behaved sftrangely when we entered the temple. And there were sfome sftrange thingsf there….”

He listened carefully, the description of the tube with its spiralling mist had him intrigued. Personally he had never felt any need to explore the old temples and other buildings. Life on Ossus was hard enough and time to go sightseeing was sparse.

Into his story Tharam’s nasal sounding voice improved. The time in the fresher had helped him.

“What happened in the arena?” As his daughter couldn’t really tell him, it was up to the warrior to lift the veil of mystery.

“She wanted to go down and slipped on the stone. We went down both and – I did protect her head with my arm, but she was .. I thought she was dead, like her neck broken. I checked and looked for a pulse … she … her eyes were open but only stared and she didn’t react..”

His hands had grip the armrests of his chair.

“I panicked, I thought her dead … that I had lost her and …”

“What about the helmet, your nose.”

“I c-couldn’t breathe and t-took it off and … Then she suddenly jolted and the back of her head hit my nose … and broke it.”

He smiled, in his action the hunter had more revealed than with words: “You risked your Creed.”

As the helmet sank so did his voice: “Yes … no … I-I wouldn’t h-have m-minded. Not if I could have brought her back with it.”

He stood up and reached out an arm, when the warrior grasped his wrist, he held it: “ _Jate. Vor’e._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vode: comrades, mates  
> Jate.: Good  
> Vor’e!: Thanks!


	21. Yellow can be a liberation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The temple had left her raw. Too raw for what was to come. At least some one else didn't have the qualms of baring their feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some fluff, some heat: hopefully you will need a fan and/or cold water
> 
> songlist  
> 1) Kamelot - memento mori https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kymf6m4sVWM  
> 2) (Tharam' POV) Kamelot - Anthem https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=68JLVOAJv0s  
> 3) Two steps from hell - blackheart https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EOrE2Qr1FMU  
> 4) (Paz) Within Temptation - somewhere https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbQoBiNSILI  
> and/or  
> 5) Within Temptation . our farewell https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sGceZX84LlQ&list=PLoa_wlFpWA7NbNQU3DX0oaWgQssoy-IQt&index=17  
> 6) Sonata arctica - we are what we are https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=edfl_9ELpn4&list=PLoa_wlFpWA7NbNQU3DX0oaWgQssoy-IQt&index=38

He had known that he’d be hunted, but in space. It must have been pure luck on the side of the other bounty hunter who had the smaller ship. It was faster and he couldn’t outrun it. He was too far from any planet to risk a landing and get it over with there. The hunter got on his nerves, the hit to the engine was bad. Then his rage enflamed, he had used _his_ line. This hunter was the one to end up cold. The manoeuvre was risky and he felt the scratch of the other ship as it shot past the Crest, this was not good at all, but it had brought him behind the hunter and his systems told him _weapons free_. He hit and a savage relief surged through him.

Closest planet was Tatooine. The ship needed repairs if he didn’t want to end up floating in space. His only worry was, he needed money for the hangar and the repairs. His funds were running low, he would need a job. With the guild having given up on this planet it was safer but also more difficult. So he was surprised when the spring chicken had asked for his help – until he saw the puck. Not an easy bounty. But together they could make it. His instinct told him to be careful.

The betrayal hadn’t been too much a surprise more a nuisance. And that he found the speeder bike in front of his hangar was only logical. The wannabe hunter had put two and two together, probably with help. He sighed: _Why couldn’t things be easier_? His only advantage was his experience and the seething rage that had built up at the sight of his youngling being taken hostage.

His payment for the mechanic had been enough, even more so. After all she had done more than her share too. It had left him broke again, he needed an idea. But the idea that he played with was a folly and he knew it.

-*-*-*-

It was barely morning and she was still worn out, but she couldn’t sleep anymore. The constant pull she felt within her kept her from finding proper rest. She had to leave, as much as she wanted to spend more time with her father. She would have to tell him.

Quietly she got up and after refreshing she busied herself in the kitchen area. Being up when everybody else was not gave her a sense of tranquillity. This she was used to from her ship. Only that her ship was no longer the tranquil place, with all the people it was buzzing with life. More than ever before, the younglings would make sure of that.

With the mug in her hand she padded outside. Her bare feet didn’t make any noise. The stool her father had sat on was still standing outside. She pulled it in position and watched the double sunrise. _There is no light without the dark._ She suddenly remembered and the mug almost slipped from her fingers.

Carefully she sat it on the ground before her and willed herself to relax again. Rolling her shoulders normally helped – normally. She tensed her body and let it go lax again, legs stretched out and arms hanging at her side. Slowly it worked.

From the corner of her eye she could see a tall figure coming closer and sit quietly on the ground. He crossed his legs and placed his elbows on them, nestling his fists into the scarf under his chin. He was in his full armour but barely made a sound. His visor was directed towards the rising suns and she also watched them again, before it got too hurtful to the eyes.

The slight movement to her side hadn’t distracted her. But the mere touch stopped her breathing for a heartbeat. First she barely felt his bare fingers. Just his tips met hers. She kept very still, didn’t look, just wondered at his intention. He seemed to be encouraged by her failure to act and she could feel the first phalanx of her fingers slowly getting covered by his. Then his fingers curled into hers, softly and gently, leaving her space to retreat, giving her the chance to pull away, they just kept the most timid contact.

She didn’t look down or gaze at him, still she could see his shoulders rise and fall once in a silent sigh. When she drew a deep breath his visor moved to face her, still she didn’t look at him, she only gave his fingers the faintest squeeze and received one in return.

She had felt his wet cheeks. It could have come from the pain she had inflicted with breaking his nose, but then it became clear to her, as clear as the two suns, which started to blind her.

It hadn’t been only his cheeks, she had felt wetness down her neck and her scar had had wet spots, too. His pained and distorted voice, barely able to form the words round the blood gushing from his noise. She forced her brain to remember minute by minute, each word spoken.

The impact on the back of her head – “Oh shiiitmpf. Bfroke ma nopfe.” With her jerk she had broken his nose – _Broke my nose_.

His gloved hand over her eyes – “Donpf’t. Mopfe. Bleapfe.” He had realized that he had taken off his helmet – _Don’t. Move. Please_.

His wet cheek and she had asked if it were tears – “PForry. Fhought lopft you.” He hadn’t answered immediately, he had been thinking about his answer – _Sorry. Thought lost you_.

It had her thinking. Then she turned her head to look down at the blue visor. Her experience told her, truths are blurted out, lies are thought about first. Yet something told her, it hadn’t been a lie.

She didn’t break the gaze into his visor until she had decided on her next move: “What would it matter if you had lost me?”

His visor didn’t waver, but in the blink of an eye the faint contact of his fingers turned into a tight squeeze: “Everything.”

Just one word, but he had put everything in it – literally. It left so much open and at the same time its implication had her stunned. He sounded so absolute and final, so sure of himself that she momentarily became unsettled: “I-I ca-can’t.”

The tension on her fingers seemed to become impossibly more, but only for a second. Then it returned to the faint touch, as faint as his voice: “I know.”

She didn’t know why she didn’t pull her hand away, out of his soft hold. She didn’t know why he still kept the touch. It was unsettling and consoling – until memory – _Denx_ – struck her. – _His finger_ – She tried to – _trialing_ – push it – _the lines_ – away, the memory – _of_ _her_ – , the knot – _palm –_ in her throat.

Her hands turned into fists as she fought against the overwhelming rush of tears stinging her eyes. And his grip grew more tense again, reassuringly, comfortingly exercising just enough strength to keep her arm from shaking.

But it didn’t help. It made it worse. She shook which each silent sob that she tried to suppress. She turned her head away as the tears started streaking down her face, he shouldn’t see. Pain – comfort – loss – solace – emptiness – his presence – _his_ death – his certainty – _his_ love – his love. She couldn’t take it. _Through passion you gain focus_.

It hit her to the core. She struggled for breath, each inhale seemed to be insufficient. “Breathe!” The tug on her arm intensified. “Breathe!” She hiccupped for more air. The tug became an insisting pull. Her blurry world tumbled as she felt the pull.

-*-*-*-

He woke up and sniffed the air – caff – that meant she was already up. He had thought that she would sleep longer. He stretched, sleeping on the couch had never been his favourite and he decided that he was getting too old for that. Lazily he looked towards the window, the suns were about to rise. She definitely was up early. Before he could call out to her she had sneaked out.

He was just about to sit up when he heard the door to his bedroom open. With a sigh he decided to stay hidden behind the back of the couch and just to be sure he bent his knees to not give away his presence. But it didn’t matter at all. He could barely make out the steps, heavier than those of his daughter. After a brief interruption they continued, also outside.

He knew how to move quietly. And although he had trust in both his younglings, he had to grin at his strange thought, he wanted to witness especially the younger man’s tactic and if he did remember her morning routine concerning the caff.

From the resher’s door he had a perfect view and an excuse in case of detection. He had to shake his head, scolding himself as he realized this to be the behaviour of a nosey youngling. But with growing satisfaction he watched the man sitting down crossed-legged and keeping quite.

But not for long. His brow lifted, he saw the man’s hand inch to hers and hold it. But not in a simple hold, he was too subtle for that. He had to admire his cleverness, only that he didn’t do it out of real cunning, and that made it even more admirable

He became aware that with the way he had his fingers curled she could easily retreat, she still kept control despite his initiative. He could be successful, if he kept on his careful approach. It pleased him that Tharam’s helmet had zoomed in on her and that he still wasn’t aware of being observed himself.

When he heard the question he winced and his teeth clenched, but before he could think about the consequence he already heard the answer and his breath paused, it did not only make his hearts smile. He hadn’t expected such a quick respond. Yet, if she didn’t understand the young man’s heart now he wouldn’t know.

What followed next was a reoccurrence for him. Only now he was not there to hold her. He could see the beginning hints, she was pushing at her corners, as raw as she was, she wouldn’t make it far. And he was nowhere close. He knew she tried to hide her tears when her head turned away from the man sitting next to her. He wanted to be close and had taken the first step, his next faltered.

What he was able to watch soothed and hurt him. It was a bliss to his hearts to see someone react sincerely in the right way and the realization that it would be no longer his place hurt. Every minute movement slowly unfolded before his eyes. The concern in Tharam’s voice, the motion with which he lead their entangled hands behind his neck as his other reached out and around her, drawing her in. The way he unfolded his legs to make room for her. The carefulness with which he placed his hand at the back of her neck when her head sank into the nape between his shoulders and neck. The soft sway of his body as his other hand rested on her back.

Swiping his hand across his face he turned, the need to find his own rest had become too great. He turned on the shower and stepped in its scalding sprays. It was this moment that he cursed being a Zabrak as it felt as if both his hearts were breaking.

As much as he liked the Nevarro warrior, the time he had had her to himself had been too short. He knew that she might have never come back if it hadn’t been for the tribe on her ship. She would leave again – and no matter how long she might postpone it, it would always too early. There was only one way, but he knew it was not for him to decide or even to bring up the idea, no matter how much it itched him.

-*-*-*-

He didn’t know where he took the courage from, but if he didn’t let her know his heart he would never be able to let her know his name and face. Her fingers were warm from holding the hot mug. His nervousness only eased when she endured his touch and he let go of a silent sigh which had caught up in his chest. At the squeeze of her fingers his heart jolted and he turned to watch her. He was captured by her eyes, shimmering with tears they reminded him of a calm sea, just before a storm.

It was good that she couldn’t see his face at her question. It would mean the whole universe to him, it was everything that mattered. He didn’t even have to think of his answer. His answer was out before his brain started even working.

But it had been the wrong answer. No, not the wrong answer. Everything had changed within a few moments – both their lives. But whereas he was open for a seize of the new circumstances, her past made her reluctant. He understood and if time was not enough to help her to overcome her past and if there was not enough courage in her to try anew, he would understand and he would be still there.

The pain that gradually spread in his chest was exchanged by her hand crushingly tightening his fingers. He was alert in a second, his own body tensing, she was slipping again – like in the temple. Not exactly like, she was hyperventilating now. Yet, too similar for his taste, but this time he wouldn’t let her slip – not like in the temple.

He pulled her in, carefully and slowly, and she didn’t resist. He entangled their bodies and just held her. He wished the tightness in his chest would subside, but as she clung to him, he felt it difficult to breathe.

But he had to, for both of them: “Inhale – exhale. Breathe with me. Listen to my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In ….” He had started swaying with each slow movement of chest until she followed his lead. And he slowly let his arms relax and ran his hands comfortingly down her back. Only his knees held her kneeling form cradled in position.

He didn’t know for how long the scent of her found its way beneath his helmet. But long since before he had closed his eyes. He could fall asleep like that.

A low rustle in the small house pulled his attention back. The clicking of dishes set on a table. His back straightened at the image of her father seeing them like this. Very slowly he craned his neck to look back through the open door. There he was, standing with his shoulder against the doorframe, a leg slung over and sipping from a mug. He could even make out the wistful smile that played around his mouth and the slow nod.

What else could he do than hang his helmet. He inhaled deeply, after all it was easy to explain, he told himself.

Slowly he ran his hands up her back and gave her shoulders a small squeeze: “Your father.”

When she got up she excused herself quickly to the fresher. And he climbed up to a stand. He had already prepared his first words, when he was stopped by the Zabrak’s raised hand. He nodded and followed his host inside. He only hoped that his exhale of relief hadn’t been audible.

He took place at the set table the separating cloth was already in place. Dargak came with the steaming mug and set it down, but not without giving him an intense gaze.

Again he felt obligated to explain the situation: “I …”

Again the raised hand stopped him: “ _Jate_! I have seen it. You did well. _Ramikadyc!”_ The helmet hid his fierce blush well.

-*-*-*-

Vehemently she splashed the cold water into her face, again and again. With her mind cleared she set her plan as it kept her mind busy. The remnant members of the Nevarro tribe would be waiting, they needed a location where they could stay. Ossus was out of question, she was sure of that. Her tribe might accept the stricter interpretation of the Creed, but the other way round was impossible. She would find a place for them all and then she would follow her notion. And she needed a distraction, a hunt was due, she could use the money anyway.

Both men turned to look at her and she tried a brave smile. When she had sat down she heard the soft sound of the helmet being placed on the floor.

She let the meal go past without saying much, but the looks her father sent her way were telling enough.

“You know that I can’t postpone it. I have to find somewhere safe where they can stay.” She wondered how long she would have stayed without the responsibility she shouldered.

“And you know that I hate seeing you leave after such a short time and the given circumstances.” He watched her closely as he wondered if he should make the first step, he knew he just couldn’t wait: “I wish I could spend more time with you. But I understand, though coming with you is an idea that came to me. But it is your ship and your decision. But I thought … if you go on a hunt … our tribe could use some funds.”

She had to think this option through. Space was getting scarce on the Keldab. But as a united force they had greater chances at both finding a place for the tribe and acquire jobs. He had often told her about his roaming times when half the known space had been his home. Tenderly she reached out and placed a hand on his with a mischievous smile playing round her lips: “Aren’t you too old for the _beroya_ business?”

It earned her a low growl and a slap on her hand. But what had her really smile was the low melodic chuckle from the other side of the cloth: “From what I can tell, your father can uphold himself rather well.”

She sighed dramatically. “Since when have you two decided to side up against me?” She tried her best to sound annoyed. But she knew she had miserably failed when from the other side came his retort: “Takes two of us to uphold against you. Alone I’ve utterly failed already once.”

She knew that her annoyance was easy to see through, but she had to give it at least a try. What her mind had more enraptured was that she had thought her father would be more exasperated about a potential contender.

She quietly watched her father ready himself. His additional arsenal would be very welcome. He had even gone to the foundry and she was curious what kind of specialties he had brought with him. It wasn’t much he packed but in the end the speeder wouldn’t be sufficient. Of course Ron had at once offered his help.

When her _buir_ stepped a last time out of his dwelling in full gear she looked at him in awe. She had often seen him in full armour, yet it was always a sight to behold.

His armour matched hers besides small differences. The Beskar was painted in a glossy black and stood in contrast to her dull pearl. The ornamental designs along the rims and edges had been crafted similarly, his more with an edge to them, the difference of the colouring there was minimal and only appeared in the right light. Where hers was a silvery shimmer his had a golden sheen to it. The black cloak with its deep hood resembled hers.

With a beam speaking of the pride she felt for him she put on her helmet. They were three _beroya’e_ and they would sure cause a stir. She froze, two – they were two _beroya’e._

-*-*-*-

Under the watchful eyes of the Nevarro tribe things were kept short and quick: his packs were brought into the ship, he clasped wrists with the healers, they exchanged well-meant wishes and then they were on their way back to the tribe.

They had set a slow pace when nearing the ship and he had pulled up his hood. There was no need to alarm anyone untimely despite their arrival being announced in advance anyway. He had spotted the scout quite soon. An ever so slight reflection of light had given him away.

The first thing that he saw was a bunch of younglings who kept shyly to the back and huddled close to a maroon and a red warrior, females he noted. Another maroon clad warrior joined them quickly, his sniper rifle resting in the crook of his arm, swiftly to be put into action, the scout he mused. He linked the maroons as _riduure_. Then his eyes were drawn to a massive heavy infantry in dull blue who sauntered out of the ship.

A feral smile crossed his lips. Trouble predestined. It was almost frightening in how quickly he had returned to assessing potential opponents. But it was also good, it had always meant the little difference of staying alive.

Not having to look down to gaze into another visor was something he hadn’t done in ages. The man was his size and he was walking muscles. His own preference was agility, this man’s would be raw power. The outcome of an encounter would be determined by stamina.

He had anticipated the trouble correctly. The heavy infantry sought him out right away and planted himself directly in front of him and Dargak knew he was measured too. His grin widened, he had the advantage of the hood. But he wasn’t here to start trouble so he gave the man a short nod.

He dissolved the situation further and turned his attention towards the ship: “Impressive.” At the irritated grunt he pursed his lips. Maybe the movement of his head had been too shallow. He huffed in amusement, but better to clarify before the other warrior got wrong ideas: “The ship. Haven’t seen her before.”

When he saw his daughter shaking her head, he shrugged and strolled over to her: “Didn’t start it.” It earned him a growl: ”Don’t. My ship, my rules.”

He knew this was going to be fun, one way or the other: “Then show me your beauty.”

-*-*-*-

Having her in his arms and confessing his love to her was a completely new feeling which he had to reflect on while she lay melted against his chest. It was so soothing to feel her weight against him that he soon forgot about the itching sensation of his side. And with the combined warmth of her body and the blanket he soon fell asleep.

When he awoke again they had barely moved. He was still resting halfway to the wall and she had slipped to lie next to him, nestled against his side and chest. He had grunted only very softly as her armour dug into him and was the more perplexed when she nestled at the clasps securing her chest plate without moving her body off him. Only when she was done she slightly rose and pulled it out to let it slide down off the bed. He hadn’t meant to wake her.

Beneath the hard Beskar he could feel her soft body under the layers of fabric. Still too many for his taste. But when she had nestled against him again he hummed, a thrill rushing through him: “Hmm. Better.” He was sure that the vibration of his rumble was traversing to her body when she made a content sound.

Shifting over to make more room for her was something his side didn’t like at all. But in the end he could rest his shoulders and back against the wall. With its support he could relax more and move his concentration to the warm body he was holding.

“Maybe some more protectors off, you still have some hard edges digging into me.” He tried to make his drowsy mumble sound casual.

“That your only alibi?” Her forgiving snicker told him that he had failed. He huffed and was already prepared to let go of a disappointed sigh when she reached down and lifted her leg to remove her left cuisse.

He balled his fists and commanded his body to keep still. It would be so easy to clasp her knee and pull her closer, to drape her over ….. His nails dug crescents into his palms. He waited, motionless, he watched, his breath caught.

She had nestled the cuisse loose and rolled on her back to get off the other one. He kept her in his embrace to keep her from rolling off their bed. When she worked on her vambraces and pauldrons he assisted as well as he could.

Their sighs of satisfaction became one as they settled back into the position they had woken up in. They still had some time to themselves before the ship came to life. Then she would tend to her business and he would just lie there to heal.

The second day in row in bed and it vexed him. The tugging sensation of his healing side had him edgy. Tulata bossing him about staying in bed had him irritated but her threatening that she would sit the whole time with him to make him do so had him allured.

He knew he was exploiting it, when he tried to rise with an impish grin under the helmet. He loved how she made a show of bustling round. The familiar sound of the water filling the bowl and the cloth being dipped in and wrung out drew a smile of joyful anticipation. It was not like he couldn’t do it by himself by now, but who was he to keep her from her tasks.

Nevertheless he mewled: “Can do that myself.” They both knew that his indignant grumble was to keep the pretext. So she told him to not even dare to move. And he let it happen. Methodically she started her work on his shoulders and arms then she moved lower.

Keeping control over an even breathing only worked so far. Reigning in his steadily faster beating heart didn’t work. No matter how much he tried, her touches had both – breath and heart – spike and hitch. When he felt her hand moving the fabric of his suit, which had bundled up at his hip, lower and over his hipbone he knew he had to react or lose it. He tried to catch her hand and keep the lower part of his clothing in place.

But she only used his movement to place her hands on his collarbones and push him back onto the sheets. He couldn’t hide a low chuckle when she victoriously exclaimed: “See, I can easily keep you down, you are still hurt too much to do anything.”

He set his voice to a low purring growl: “Only because I let you, _cyare_.” And he was quick to slip his arms round her to pull her close onto his chest. Her answer was a delighted giggle as she wriggled against him. The last two days she had barely left the ship and her armour still lay neatly heaped in the med bay.

“Now let me do my work, fallen warrior.” He didn’t want to let her go, but thinking about where he had interrupted her work made him giving his resistance a second thought.

“At your own risk, this warrior is not so fallen as you might think.” He had thought that he had more control at least over his voice, but it came out more husky than he had intended.

“I think I can work round it.” Her visor hovered over his and he would have loved to see her face when he growled amusedly: “Torturer.”

At her somewhat nervous titter he nestled into the mattress and closed his eyes: “Do your worst. I’ll try to hold back. No promise though.”

She lingered a bit longer and he squinted at her and hoped that he hadn’t scared her off. Invitingly he wriggled onto his back, crossed his arms behind his neck and closed his eyes again: “All at your mercy.” If she wanted his arousal, she could have it.

He didn’t move anymore and after some time her finger ghosted over his chest and down his abdomen. When she worked on the last buttons of the trousers of his suit a quiver waved down from his shoulders to his hips. Her fingers went between his suit and briefs and at her nudge he duly mortised against the cot and lifted his hips. It was not soon after that the flight suit piled on the floor.

Inwardly he grumbled in disappointment, but it was hers to set the pace. And so he relished as the warm cloth rubbed up his calves and thighs. When she tugged his briefs lower his hope rose, but she kept them in place – just so – and the warm cloth brushed over the patch of coarse hair.

In an instant he had grabbed the side of the mattress, he couldn’t prevent the jerk of his hips that came with a rough groan. Her warm hand, not the damp cloth, he realized was touching him and his mouth went dry.

He felt the pressure against his groin as her body moved upwards, trapping his arm beneath her. Her helmet was so close, he could literally feel it and her whisper vibrated in his ears: “Close. Your eyes. Close them.”

His ragged breathing shook his chest: “You…” Her voice was melted Beskar: “Tightly closed.” And he believed her. When he removed his other hand from his neck he felt their arms brush. The clicks and hisses of the helmets filled the room. A soft clink sounded as the lifted helmets connected and he felt her breath on his chin.

Her breaths came in stutters and brushed warm against his skin. Her flowery scent played along his nose. Instead of anchoring in the mattress, his hand pressed her against him and when he felt her lips softly brushing his he lost all sense of space and time.

They were full and soft. Chaste in their touch, light as the wings of an Onderanian butterfly. He let her place soft pecks and exploring nibs before it was his turn. He could feel the corners of her mouth curl upwards at his exploration and when her lips slightly parted he tentatively let the tip of his tongue run over her lower lip.

He didn’t dare to want more but he felt her lips soften on his. He hummed his passion into her mouth as his arm pressed her closer. He couldn’t say who started the passionate deep kisses but it had him breathless. He wanted to get rid of his helmet to be able to caress her with both hands, to feel her face beneath his hands. It was a hinderance in kissing, he longed for more and he let her feel it in his kisses and in the way his body started to strain against the pressure of her hand.

He didn’t know what made him tilt his head back with a barely suppressed moan, her taste, her hitched gasps or her hand’s tensed clasp pressing onto his groin: “M-Mercy … or … c-can’t res-strain.”

Her head came to rest on his chest and he could feel the heat of her quickened breaths against his skin. Somehow he was glad that he called for a pause. After having been left clueless for such a long time things had spiralled quite fast.

What made him scowl and turn angry at himself for having been a complete fool was when she actually put his ponderings in words: “Why haven’t we seen it earlier. Wasted quite some years stalking round each other.”

He couldn’t say why, maybe the tightness and crowdedness of the covert, but it was tight and crowded here on the ship, too. Yet, less observed, less mouths to gossip over the heavy infantry and his weakness for the healer.

When he woke the fourth day neither sweet or stern words, nor hot kisses could keep him in bed anymore. Days had passed since Tharam had left and there was not a notice from him.

At first he had concentrated on his healing. Being fit for action was the most essential. Then he had taken the post as scout when Bril was out to hunt. At some point they had switched their tasks. He was a fair shot, but all the track reading and sneaking up to the animals was not really his. Of course he had always brought home some game, it was just that he didn’t enjoy it. So he picked up the sentinel task again.

After some days Tharam had come back, in the dark and in a rush. The news he had brought with him were unimaginable and it was wise to follow Tharam’s advice to not to accompany him. No helmets, he had been infuriated, he still had to shake his head about it, this was not the way!

Tulata had had a hard time to convince her _khi’vod_ Thar to stay overnight, but as always, in the end he did what she said. Too long she had been as his _buir_. He had smirked at the image of Tharam hanging his head as he meekly followed her instructions, he had experienced – the hard way – how convincing she could be – not that he would actually complain

When Tharam had finally come back together with the black clad pilot they were not alone. Bril had contacted him – _sled, Thar and her, three more_ – well, Tharam had said a whole tribe was located on Ossus.

When he exited the ship he had feared the worst, but gladly all wore their helmets. As he was already used to, the pilot’s hood was in place and then his eyes fell on the other figure cloaked in black. He was still sitting in the sled when had his visor trained in on him.

Obviously the man had seen him too as me moved to get out of the sled. He had only a short time to register the smooth motions of the warrior before they stood a few steps apart, and he knew he was directly looking into a visor beneath the hood. None of the covert had reached his stature and this one only missed something in body width. His mind instantly played through moves and became agitated at the prospect of a sparring.

He had tensed at the man’s comment, and when he had clarified what he actually meant, Paz knew that he would also be an impressive opponent in a battle of wits. The pilot must have done something to call their deadlock off and he regretted it with smirk creeping into his face. When he turned around the two black cloaked figures vanished into the ship – one passenger more and he sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jate: Good  
> ramikadyc: commando state of mind - an attitude that he/ she can do anything, endure anything, and achieve the objective. A blend of complete confidence and extreme tenacity instilled in special forces during training. Can also be used informally to describe a determined, focused person.  
> beroya, beroya’e: bounty hunter(s)  
> buir: parent, father, mother  
> riduure: wife, husband, partner(s)  
> cyare: beloved  
> khi’vod: little brother


	22. Maroon is Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting everyone settled is not an easy task, especially with two tribes so different. Each struggling with their own past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist  
> 1) Lords of Iron (Celtic metal) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U5u9glfqDsc  
> 2) Dzivia - Dzikaje Palavańnie (Wild Hunt) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FbP0wsey89E  
> 3) (the armours) BrunuhVille - Song of the North https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eaAjP_4Gcnk  
> 4) (cockpit)Thomas Bergersen - Children of the sun https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GNKgth44EIk  
> 5) Antii Martikainen – King of the Highlands https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uERmSK4pPK4  
> 6) Antii Martikainen - Taivaantuli https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P-BICwhRX2M

Having been a former freighter the Keldab was spacious, but even she had her limits. The storage rooms had to be reorganised, a room for one more passenger was needed. The Rull’s were content to have one of the storage compartments annexed to where the youngling could sleep.

If she moved the containers in the other storage to the lower hulk there would be enough room for Walking Wall and his healer. She didn’t think they would mind, she would just assume that it had never been planned otherwise.

Of course the two could also stay in the med bay, but first she’d have liked to keep it clear just in case and second with the other storage room they would have more privacy and more space, especially to put two mattresses next to each other. It was not like she hadn’t felt the change since her absence.

 _Two couples, this was going to be a lively ship_. Couples – the thought came unbidden and she quickly concentrated on the remaining roomless passengers or better crew members, her father and the Nevarro brave. Someone had to share or she would just stick to the cockpit.

It wouldn’t have been the first hours she had spent there, barely moving to the other parts of the ship. Before the main alterations she had slept in the pilot’s seat over three full cycles so she didn’t see a problem doing so for a much shorter time again. Once the Nevarro tribe was located on a new planet she would only need the two cabins, for her father and herself.

While she had shown her father around her ship she had thought everything over. And when she made her plans, to start off as soon as possible, known to the other adults she asked them to the lounge quarter of the ship as this was the largest part. Everybody would fit most neatly there.

She had dug out some old star maps and compared them to the ship’s computer. Depending on where the tribe decided to try first, it would mean she had to cross half the galaxy. She had picked planets from the Mid Rim to the Wild Space.

All her choices had their disadvantages, but also positive aspects. She had tried to think of everything. If it was enough, the upcoming discussion would show. Her plan was to present them with their options and then leave them alone to pick their choice. Meanwhile she planned to move her things out of the cabin she used and adjust it for her father’s needs.

When everybody but her _buir_ had gathered and seated themselves in the lounge area she laid out the maps and switched on her data pad: “I didn’t know if you have given your destination any thought, so I came up with something. I have the locations marked and pre-set. I can take you anywhere. To find a place where neither old Imps and new Pubs are too present is the most essential I think, but too much has happened within the last years, so some information might be old and we will be up to a surprise once we get there. It is your decision, take your time. I’ll be running some errands and get us up meanwhile.”

She stepped back and watched them for a while. It was interesting how preferences started to show. Of course Big Blue had assumed the position as leader, the red healer turned out to be the mediator between him and the Maroons. Her eyes wandered over to the green-blue helmet. Its blue visor didn’t look into the maps, it was looking at her.

She turned on her heels and went to get some things from her cabin. She needed to put some things away before her father ….. Where was he? A minute ago he had been standing behind her. Of course he knew where his place would be, but would he already make himself comfortable? She had told him that she wanted to clear out the quarters.

He was there, standing in the middle of the room, taking its furnishing in before he stepped towards the desk where the holo softly blinked its steady rhythm. When he turned his head to look at her she shook her head: “Don’t.”

She bee-lined to the desk, shouldering past him. After she had snatched the small device she stuffed it into her pocket and started rummaging round the room and her locker. She more or less threw everything into the lowest compartment of the only other locker.

She had wanted to be quick, opening the door barely enough to get her things in and locking everything away safely. But there was this sound coming from the desk, this sharp intake of surprise and shock. Again she shook her head: “Don’t!”

She swivelled around and pointed to the now mostly empty closet with its door ajar: “ _Your_ locker, sink, bed, desk. Fresher’s next to med bay. Rest you find in the lounge area. Get settled, I get us airborne.”

When she closed the cabin’s door behind her, she found the blue visor again – or was it still – looking in her direction. He didn’t partake in the animated discussion going on next to him. It took her a full minute to register that she was staring back before she headed, with the cloak billowing behind her, to the cockpit. She closed and locked the door – she needed a moment to herself and initiating the starting sequences was something that would give her this time.

She quickly checked the fuel, some distance was manageable before she needed to refill. Then she pushed the levers and her Keldab rose towards the white puffy clouds. She could hear the animated voices and after the blue had turned to the dark of the space she just floated slowly towards the point from which she could turn to any wished destination.

A soft knock disturbed her peaceful silence. Turning her pilot’s chair around she reached for the panel and let the door slide open. To her surprise the red armoured healer stood in the narrow hall. She beckoned her in to sit in the long abandoned co-pilot’s chair.

“Anything decided yet?” in a show of hope she let her hand hover over the computer to set a course.

“Not really, but it is down to three, well four.” Her voice sounded a bit exasperated.

She had to chuckle: “So who is winning? Big Blue?”

“What?! You nicknamed him?” Her exasperation had turned into utter amazement maybe even a little indignation. She had been caught by complete surprise.

“Better than my first choice …. Walking Wall, I’d say.” First there was a definitely indignant huff, but it turned into a more amused snort.

“So do you have a nickname for all of us?” She was outrightly curious.

“Not for all, it’s not like I had had much contact with all of you.” Having witnessed her reaction to her – she had to think a bit – better half, the reaction to her own nickname might be also interesting.

“So who do you have named so far?” Pure curiosity, she might take it well after all.

“Well, you, it is too obvious to not name you … Lil Red.” She watched the female warrior closely, she had guessed correctly, an amused giggle came from the red helmet.

“I’m not that small, just an inch or so smaller than you.”

She innocently shrugged: “It’s smaller though.”

“And what about my _khi’vod_ Th … the blue-green warrior?” The Nevarro healer had quickened her question, but it wasn’t completely lost on her, she had almost given away his name, but the information that froze her was another.

She coughed on her own salvia: “Your _khi’vod_?” Her question had come too hard, too raw. She hadn’t been prepared for anything like that.

“So he didn’t tell you? Yeah, sounds like my little brother. And I bet he hadn’t said much either … concerning himself.” She couldn’t hear it exactly. Was it a question or a statement. What did the healer imply?

Something made her heart jump and a quick shiver ran through her. She shook her head with a tilt, there was no water in her ears, though she felt like a cold wave had just washed over her.

“So what other secrets besides your names do I have to prepare for?” She started to not like this game anymore.

“We have heard of your different way, when he was here. He was a bit in a hurry as he wanted to … Well, actually … there are no more secrets.”

She tilted her head in a nice 45 degree angle, her _I’m getting pissed_ pose, another one who was so very good at hinting and not finishing senteces: “Stop implying woman. Get to the point.”

“No! Wait! Sorry! No secrets at all. He’s my stupid tongue-tied little brother who I much care for. And he does care much for you, too.”

She thought that she got it: “So the big sister is checking out if the stray Mando, her little brother has run into, is worth the whole trouble. I can tell you: I. Am. Not. When you have decided where I should drop you off, someone can tell me. Dismissed.”

She turned her chair round and stared out of the window. She definitely hadn’t appreciated her solitude well enough, now, for the time being it was lost to her.

As she didn’t grace the healer with her attention anymore, the woman rigidly stood up after some moments of silence and left the cockpit again. She hit the locking mechanism right away.

She let her head rest against the back of her chair and closed her eyes for a moment.

_There is no light without the dark._

She was wide awake in a second.

 _Through passion you gain focus_.

Her fist thundered into the ship’s wall, barely missing important panels. “That enough passion!!??” She caught herself and listened intently: no steps neared the cockpit, with some luck no one had heard. She had to take better care, she was no longer alone on the ship.

While she sat seething quietly she rubbed her knuckles. Steel and bones were not a clever combination. Clenching and unclenching her had she grunted at the growing pain. “For Kriff’s sake!”

In a single movement she turned her seat again, hit the panel and strode with wide steps to the med bay. Two blue visors followed her. But before the smaller one could rise from her seat she had locked the door already.

Some bacta and a cooling wrapping should work. She hissed, working off the glove revealed her knuckles. The red of the impact was turning to a blue with a not so healthy swelling. _Passion_ , she huffed, now she could _focus_ on the pain and healing the damage.

There was a soft knock on the door, but she was not in the mood: “Not. Now.” She was thankful that it was not repeated. Despite her keen hearing she hadn’t even heard footsteps approaching, neither did she hear any retreating now. She definitely didn’t want anybody to wait just outside the door.

When she was done she had to find out that with her bandage wearing the glove was impossible. Maybe later, when the swelling had gone back, so she shove the glove into the back pocket of her flightsuit. On opening the door she thought she would be confronted with the healer, but it was the _beroya_ , her brother.

She made sure she was quicker than him: “Decided where to go?”

“Not yet, but….”

“Fine. Someone find me in the cockpit when you have.” That was the only place where she wanted to be right now, the only place where no other would follow.

When she rushed past and to the hallway leading to the cockpit she saw her father stepping out of his quarters. Another person to avoid at the moment. She locked herself into the cockpit again and removed her helmet. With a sigh she sank into her seat hoping to get a destination soon.

-*-*-*-

Her quarters were spacious with a hint of luxury. It had him whistle lowly. Having a sink in the quarters was definitely more than he had seen on other ships and the bed was not only a simple hard cot. Then his eyes were drawn to a steady blinking on the desk.

He knew he would have explored it, but then she had come in and stopped him unmistakably. He simply knew what the holo contained, she didn’t have to tell him at all. The armours in the locker were something else. The glimpse he had caught was enough to send a cold shiver down his spine.

When she had stormed out he just stood in the room for a while, digesting what had occurred and what he had seen. The memorabilia of which she couldn’t let got, which kept her in a cycle of her past.

A soft metallic screech made its way into his ears and he watched the locker door inching open. It had started moving when she ship had started its ascent. The closet wasn’t locked properly. He knew it would be wrong and an exploitation of the situation so he sat down on the bed. To hear her tell of the battle and to see its effects on the armours of those who hadn’t survived it were two totally different things. In order to be able to really understand what she had been through he had to see with his own eyes. At least that was the justification he wanted to give himself.

As fortune would have it, the door opened wider with another movement of the ship. He went over and opened both wings. The second time he laid he eyes on the pieces of Beskar he was better prepared. It still hurt his eyes, soul and hearts. The shelves themselves were discoloured with the dark colour that all three sets had in common.

The midnight blue hid the scorch marks well enough, the more they stood out on the orange painting. In places it was discoloured with greys, blacks and browns beyond recognition. Where hits had glanced off or penetrated he could see the metal beneath the painting. Some parts of the armour he could only identify because of the way they were lain out in display, too bent and destroyed to identify otherwise. Both blue armour sets bore the signs of heavy battle. A battle that had been lost.

Even worse off was the formerly green armour. The cuirass was broken into two ragged halves. He traced the ridges, and holes until his fingers rested over the _Beskaryc Kar'ta._ Quietly he whispered the remembrance and their names. He was about to close the doors again when his eyes fell on a familiar triangular object peeking out from under the green armour. The more he pulled at it the more he became aware that he was looking at a fourth _Beskarcy Kar’ta_. He was confused and racked his brain to remember.

Bringing it back into position he slid the doors shut and left her chambers. She rushed past and he heard the cockpit’s door getting locked. He nodded inquiringly at Tharam who stood closest to him, but he only received a shrug in return. He had to let the topic rest for the time being. He moved closer to able to observe the discussion between the other three Mandalorians better.

They hadn’t made any progress. The maroon couple and the bulky blue warrior couldn’t agree: “A proposal,” he bent over the map and pointed. “From where we are now, the most sensible route would be Garos and then Myrkr. If neither is to your liking you can discuss further. But you have to start somewhere.”

The maroons quickly counselled and then nodded. The blue bulk’s visor didn’t leave his. He could literally smell the testosterone rolling off the heavy infantry, challenging him.

This time his _ad_ was not there to make him retreat. He rose again to his full height, his chortle was more a breathed growl as he reached up and flung the hood back revealing his black horned helmet.

The heavy infantry almost took a step back, just almost, before he squared himself. The sudden wave of tension made everyone speechless. He knew everyone was staring and realizing they had a Zabrak in their midst. Very likely they hadn’t come across many before and the myths and rumours concerning his species were manifold.

“Any objections?” He was still looking into the dark visor opposite of him.

The huge man didn’t lose anytime to step up close. Just an inch more and their visors would have connected: “Decisions for the tribe are not yours to make. Step down.”

“You are losing precious time. If you….”

He had been sure that if it hadn’t been for the combined effort of the female in red and Tharam, there would have been more between him and the tall Nevarro warrior. But they interrupted their second standoff and was ushered towards the cockpit with the task to inform the pilot.

He kept silent besides some mumbled growls as he continued alone to inform his daughter. He rapped on the cockpit’s door: “ _Ad’ika_ , course is set. They want to try Garos first.”

He had spoken to the still closed door and only the soft movement of the ship told him that she had heard him. He eased his back against the door and waited until he heard the door’s mechanism unlock. Even then he waited until she let it slid open. When he sat in the co-pilot’s chair he unclasped his helmet. Holding it in his lap he watched the white dots against the black move past.

“Will you be okay with this?” He saw her curt nod, but also her tight set mouth. He faced her and became aware of her wrapped hand. A corner of his mouth pulled into a lopsided smirk: “Anger management?”

“Uh … hmm … uh-hu.” He hated it when she stopped being articulate.

“You are not going to tell me?” He knew she was good at this game and could keep it up for hours. Just modulating her utterances enough to substitute for actual answers.

“Ah … uh-uh.”

“Was it the Nevarro warrior that stayed with us, he’s not that bad, you know.” He might have just to push her long enough to get an actual answer after all.

“Ack .”

“He looked a bit aggravated under his helmet. So who else was it?” He might get her with that.

“Pfft … _vod_.” At least an exaggerated snort. And one word.

“Remember, when talking to me about it helped you? … find a solution or just share a burden.”

“Hhmm … As a youngling.”

“You will always be my youngling, my _ad’ika_.” He had turned his chair towards her and placed his hands palm upwards on his knees. “As long as I breathe and my hearts beat.”

Her rigid posture relaxed as she rested her back against her chair. And though she didn’t turn to face him she let her injured hand slide onto her thigh, then she reached out and he carefully took her hand in both of his.

“I know this is difficult for you. Taking them in, coming to Ossus, being alone and now surrounded by so many. Tell me what I can do to make it easier. I’ll do anything.”

Finally she did face him. And he wished she hadn’t. He could read it all, the hate and longing for solitude, the revulsion and elation at her victory on Ossus, the need for and anguish caused by feelings, the utter loss in the past and the downright fear of the future.

Her voice was so quiet when she finally addressed him: “Do u know what it means to stay, to be alive, to be left behind, without meaning or loving it? With nothing else but hate for life?”

It broke out of him in a gasp: “That’s why you challenged them both … at once … to die … you came seeking death?!”

“Worth a try.” It was all she said before she retreated, turning to look out again, positioning her hand on the lever again.

“No! It never is! And you know that! There is no honour in it! I have been waiting for your return, you never came. Why? What has happened? What did I do? Where is the trust you had in me?” Had jumped up and hovered next to her seat.

“Nothing, I just didn’t …”

“ … no you don’t realize, Vayra Kryban. You are stuck. You have lost the Way. Commemorating those you have lost does not mean to seek to follow them.” He had to use everything he had to not raise his voice.

“You don’t understand …”

With more force than intended he swivelled her chair around and bent to come eye to eye with her: “…. I! Do! More than you will ever know! And this is why what you are doing hurts the more!”

She had tried to turn the chair back, but he held it in place. She had tried to get out of the chair, but he pushed her back: “You will listen now, then I will leave and let you think about it. … Life is short and even shorter for us. _Darasuum_ means forever, but for us it can be very short. Only with us remembering them, those who have marched on will be eternal. You have found a love and lost it. You are not the only one! There have been others before you and others will follow. Live and honour them with your life, your strength and your loyalty,” he grabbed her wrists in an iron hold. “Denx was a part of your life, honour this part. Use your strength to avenge him, if you must. Show him your loyalty by honouring his sacrifice and live on.”

He straightened back and released her: “After we have found a place for the tribe, we will go to where you set their pyre and we will bury their armours there. I will give you all the time you need, but we will not leave before they and you have found the rest you all deserve. _Kot’parj_ ”

When she didn’t move he rested his forehead against hers, placed a quick kiss on it: “ _Darasuum_.”

He left with his helmet in his hand. He didn’t even consider putting it on, not for what he hoped that it would cause – a ruckus, a way to let off steam. He sauntered towards the kitchen area.

It had the wished effect, any conversation died instantly. The only noise were the sounds of a hissed inhale as it breathed his name which came from the lean warrior and the angry pants as he shouldered past the bulky heavy infantry. And when he felt the hand on his arm he swatted it away as he twirled around and stepped up to the man, completely ignoring his private space.

He knew he was staring into the other man’s eyes and didn’t move an inch. His breath cloaked the dark visor: “This is her ship and our way. Deal with it. If not … now or anytime.”

“ _Di’kute_! Not here on board!” Again it was Tharam Tern and the healer who intervened. Whereas it had been the woman to intercept the first time, it was now the lean male who shoved himself between the two hovering opponents and pushed them apart with his hands placed on either breast plate: “I know you both. There’s the kids and there is too many breakable things here. If you two hot-headed Banthas need to take it out on each other, then you will wait till we are on a suitable planet.”

“He is right, and you know it, best both of you cool off, each in his corner.” The healer was quick to grab the huge man’s arm. A nod was directed towards the man in their middle. “And you will come with me. We have business in the med bay.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward as he watched the smaller woman tug and pull at the massive man until he reluctantly gave in to her wish. But he didn’t have much time to celebrate this small victory as he felt himself dragged towards his quarters. Tharam took his job very seriously.

-*-*-*-

He had watched the discussion, but not taken part in it. He knew his sister sometimes threw him a glance to encourage him, yet he stayed passive. He didn’t see any sense in participating in the decision as he didn’t really intend to stay with the tribe. If his wish came true, he would already have a place to stay, and this was on this very ship.

But something was wrong, some time after Tulata had come back from the cockpit she had stomped through and right into the med quarter and before anybody could react the door had slammed shut. He had wondered and worried and of course he had knocked on the door

The growl behind the closed door had him wait until the door opened again and he faintly smelled Bacta as she rushed past him. He thought it curious that one of her gloves hung from her the back pocket of her suit until he saw the white of a bandage on her hand. Her father’s attention had also been attracted, but he knew as much as him.

And the tension didn’t lessen. It unfolded between Paz and her father. He could only guess but even the knowledge of their different perception of the Creed seemed to have his _vod_ on the verge of starting an argument.

He felt lost in his role as onlooker, that he and his sister had tried to dissolve the quarrel didn’t help. Even with Dargak leaving for the cockpit the tension lingered. Maybe giving Paz some space might cool him off.

He indicated for his sister Tulata to follow him to the cabin still assigned to him. He needed to know what had caused that injury.

She had barely closed the door behind them when he already started: “You didn’t stay long in the cockpit. What happened? I mean she …” He tried to leave out any accusing note.

“I seriously don’t know. It started off nicely. Like she told me that she had a nickname for Paz and me and then it quickly went downhill.”

“Nickname? Doesn’t sound too bad, so what brought the change?” So far he couldn’t see anything bad about it.

“Could it be that you haven’t talked to her at all?” Now, there was accusation in her voice.

“Why? Yes, sure did. I mean … for the longer part she had been unconscious, but yes we did talk. What is that look for?” He had been too close to not miss the displeased stance of her posture.

“I’m just wondering. What did you talk about?”

“I … erm … we … I mean I even …”

“You even … what?”

“I might have even tried to say that … Wait! That is not the point. What angered her so much that she hurt herself?” She always did that, averting from herself and getting him to do the talking.

He pouted his lips as she shook her head at him: “You didn’t even tell her that your my _khi’vod_.”

“I … erm … no, there was no … opportunity. I had enough trouble with trying to find out if she …”

“She got angry when I let slip that you are my brother and I fear she thought that, as your older sister, I came to check her out. She said something about being worthy and that she is not. Then she made me leave the cockpit. Tharam, you have to talk to her!”

He sank down on the bed and placed his helmet in his hands: “I tried, she didn’t let me, said she can’t. She lost her _riduur_ and isn’t ready to … I don’t know how to show her. Tul’ika, how can I proof to her that I really mean it?”

When she sat next him he felt her arm over his shoulders: “Give her time and make her talk. It will hurt you both, but as it is pain that keeps her trapped, maybe it is pain that will release her….You know _vod’ika_ , I want to see us both happy.”

He heard the little snicker and then it clicked: “Wait! Who? You mean … while I wasn’t here … you and him .. HIM … PAZ?!”

The snicker got louder: “It’s not like there had been nothing before, yes … US! You fine with it?”

He neither missed the slight worry: “Ermm … sure … at least he listens to you … somewhat.” A quick image of his sister bossing around the huge man raced through his mind made him giggle now too.

Suddenly they heard the voice and were quick to join the others again. Not too soon. Inwardly he cursed the Zabrak as he faced Paz helmetless. The challenge was voiced and he bodily interfered before they could get into action. _When they get to it, it will be nastier than my sparring with him._

-*-*-*-

Garos wasn’t that far away from Ossus, not even worth a jump to hyperspace. From afar she could make out the two moons as the planet grew in size by the minute. As she got nearer she could make out the calming blue of an ocean and lush green of the landmass.

It fit her that the information she had found had said that it was quite isolated, yet it had also said that it had been of interest to the Empire. She hoped for the best and she knew that there were enough places to hide out a tribe as tiny as the one she did harbour on her ship. If she kept them away from the four major cities they could even lead a decent life.

There were enough forests and mountains and clear water to be self-reliant. And if the tribe, namely Big Blue stayed away from trouble they could trade with the native tribes. If the big man felt the itch, he could hunt or try to tame one of the native beasts.

She had planned her arrival, far away from the main landmass she entered the atmosphere over the vastness of the Locura Ocean and made her way around the mountain massif, more and more to the east, before she flew over the low extensions of the highland. As low as she flew she could make out small settlements and isolated farms. Even these she left behind. She wanted to get further to the mountainous plateau. There she set her ship carefully down. Using the ship’s com-system she informed the others that they would stay her for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buir: parent, father, mother  
> khi’vod: little brother  
> beroya: bounty hunter  
> Beskaryc Kar'ta: Iron heart, Beskar heart  
> ad: child, son, daughter  
> ad’ika: little one  
> Kot’parj: strength wins  
> vod: mate, comrade  
> riduur: wife, husband, partner


	23. Marron is strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Landing on a new planet means you have to get familiar with it and its population

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist:  
> 1) Blind Guardian - Wheel of time https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJtFXTIEwYQ  
> 2) Wardruna - Raido https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3fnPwj1AMpo  
> 3) Tiamat - Whatever hurts https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iB9YYC-8jwY&list=RDiB9YYC-8jwY&start_radio=1&t=69  
> 4) Five Finger Death Punch - Inside out https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FsNzdKLKsKQ&list=PL6MJN-6SPIZdZSpnkIzNguDwNBICqBXyK&index=11  
> 5) (hail) Audiomachine - Rise Of The Black Curtain https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bA631oqahPA  
> 6) Iconic Audio- Run Like Hell https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8EMdr6nsQU

She heard the commotion even through the closed cockpit. The younglings were excitedly jumping around and by the sounds of it getting in the way of the adults. The booming voice of Big Blue made clear that he was anything but amused.

She was tired. Having locked herself into the cockpit had kept the others at bay. But the long hours had not been restful. Only once she had opened the door to get the small tray with food and something to drink. The other times she didn’t bother. The voices urging her to get it had been her father’s and the Nevarro brave’s. Even the healer had tried once. The only time she did get it, was when they had used their ultimate weapon and sent one of the small ones.

The darkness with its sparkling spots had lulled her and her mind went adrift. Her half asleep state brought back what her father had said. He had fought with and for her – _as long as I breathe and my hearts beat_ – and he would continue.

He had sounded so hurt and he didn’t seem to understand when she had told him why she had fought Vas and Tiani. She had felt his rage – _where is the trust you had in me_ – even though he had tried hard to keep his composure.

His accusations and reminders had stung deeply – _you have lost the Way_ – had she really? Slowly she retraced the last years full of bounties and troopers, full of high paying bodies she had frozen and white or black armours she had left to rot. The sting had returned, he had been right, she had sought to follow them.

He had always understood her and he did understand her in her current state – _I understand more than you will ever know, therefore it hurts the more_ – she suddenly had to gulp for air, her hands shook even as they gripped the arms of the chair.

It had always been her and her _buir_. She had never known anything else, she had never questioned or doubted. Now she did. He hadn’t just spoken to console her, he had spoken with knowledge – _live and honour them with your life_ – with the knowledge of someone who had to face what she was facing.

By the time she felt the wet stained streaks on her cheeks she was heaving with silent sobs. She didn’t want to, everything in her rebelled against his demand – _we will bury their armours there_ – she was not prepared for it, she would never be, she didn’t want to part with the armours, with the last palpable memories she had. Then her hand rubbed over the bulge in her pocket. No, not the ultimately last one, she would still have the holo disc.

Donning her helmet she finally left the cockpit. The foundlings had been given tasks to keep them busy. She watched them bustling along, the older ones keeping an eye on the younger ones and Tulata giving instructions as she helped with the more difficult things.

She went for the lower hull. The warm fresh air felt nice and she activated the circulation system to exchange the used air throughout the ship. Outside, the rest of the tribe and her father were on their way to go scouting. They had fanned out to cover some area. Within the next day they would work through the different cardinal points. For the time being they would be staying on board, unless they could find suitable lodgings. The scouts had their coms with them and instructions what to look for, mostly any dangers and ways to sustain themselves.

She had different plans. If this was where the tribe could stay they might be in need of trading partners if not even allies. She shortly informed the healer that she would be out with her speeder. She relocated the A’den next to the ship and readied the speeder. Only some scratches told of the flight off Nevarro, otherwise the shuttle was clean. She mounted the speeder and set a lazy pace. The large plain she crossed was not too inviting. Before she drew closer, to where she had seen the farm, she circled wide to approach from a different angle.

When she came closer she scouted the surrounding fields that belonged to the farm. It was a middle-sized estate consisting of several buildings. Using her scope of her sporting blaster rifle she could make out that several men were busy with their tasks, then she caught sight of two figures in long skirts, women were normally a good sign. When she saw a bunch of younglings running out of the biggest building she had made up her mind.

With her hood once again pulled deep she slowly continued her approach. It didn’t take too long and the occupants of the farm took notice of her. She appreciated their quick reactions, women and children disappeared in the house, the men fanned out, some under cover, and only three came to meet her. Even these were spreading, their blasters drawn, though not aimed.

When she was within calling distance she stopped the bike and its engine. With both legs swung over the side facing the men she awaited their approach. They were careful. The eyes of the man in the middle were on her, watching, calculating and measuring. The other two men had concentrated on the area in her back.

She gave them a full minute to assess her, then she nodded in a greeting: “G’day.”

“Watcha want?” His accent was heavy, and his voice betrayed the distrust he didn’t even care to hide. He and his company shared so much of their appearance that she was sure to have three generations before her. They were middle seized, all with a shock of blond hair, trimmed beards and grey eyes. The oldest one had more white than blond in his hair, but it was still detectable. And the blond fluff just starting told her of the youth of the youngest. All were more on the lean side and clad in sturdy working clothes. Even when they had been new, the colours had been nondescript, perfectly blending in with the nature that surrounded them.

“Saw your farm and thought I could ask for some fresh provisions in exchange for credits.” It was a lie, but one she could easily live up to. Just for emphasis she patted her hand once against the small pouch on her hip. And she let it rest there, within easy reach of her blaster.

Her movement was taken in but left uncommented: “Got nothing to sale. Move on.”

“Sure. Mind if I do some hunting hereabouts then,” she waved vaguely in the direction she had come from. Having circled the perimeter widely enough her ship was nowhere near. “Could give you a share if I’m successful.”

One of the other men had come closer and nodded towards the rifle slung on her back: “What else would you need a sporting blaster rifle for? It’s a bounty hunter weapon.”

“Got no fobs on me, if that’s your worry. Took some time off.” There was no use in denying what she was and with admitting she hoped she could gain their trust more easily. Though she did have to bend the truth a bit, it still might play into her hands: “Last job was a bit rough, wrong intel. Looked for a planet to stretch my legs and came upon Garos.”

“Why should we put up with a prowler?” Her head followed the barrel of the blaster now trimmed at her midsection and then lifted to the speaker.

“Yeah, one that even hides beneath a hood!” The third man was so much younger, inexperienced, loudmouthed and eager.

“’Cause it’s safer. Don’t get shot at that often that way.” She made herself chuckle at the youngest of the three.

“Isn’t being a bounty hunter enough reason?” The young one was definitely a loudmouth she decided and turned her face to the quiet man who had initially addressed her, he seemed the one she had to convince.

“I’m hunter and prey,” slowly she reached up and as she spoke she peeled her hood back. “Some are even less favourably looked upon than bounty hunters. For many, both on Imp and on Pub side, this is enough reason to first shoot and then talk.”

The two younger ones reacted immediately. She already prepared to feel the impact of their slugs, but the oldest lifted his hand. She hadn’t moved her visor from him.

“We don’t have much contact with anyone from the cities, so our knowledge is limited. The Empire has retreated and the Republic doesn’t have much influence on Garos, as far as we know.”

She let them hear her smile: “That was what I had hoped for.”

“I’m astonished to see that any of you have survived the conflicts. I had heard that the Mandalorians had been wiped out.” She tilted her head wondering where this would lead to and waited for him to continue.

“It’s not like Garos had much to do with you Mandalorians, Garosians had their own problems with the Sundari, who … more or less … ages ago … derived from Mandalore.” She wondered where the history lesson would lead to. She realised he was testing her patience and willingness to listen. So she let him talk. After all it had been information she had come for and this is what she got.

“At least the invasion by the Empire helped both groups to forget about their pasts.” He had come to an end and she nodded politely.

“So there is finally peace between the Garorians and you Sundaris? With Garos being off the Empire’s hook I wonder if more Mandalorians have found sanctuary here.” He was the anthill and she was poking with a stick.

She heard his inhale but he covered it quickly. Her guess had been right. This far away from the cities she had come across descendants of the Sundaris, just as she had wagered: “If any came they have been hiding well, haven’t even heard rumours about it. But who would have cared in these times anyway, not us in this valley.”

He seemed to think over his next question. It was important to him, she could see that, but something had him hesitate: “So, ermm, you not hunting anyone here?”

“Nope, just animals A vacation. And maybe a place to stay.” His head swayed as if he tried to see beneath the red T-visor.

“So you and how many of yours?” It was her time to hold her breath. He was good at observing, or guessing.

Before she answered she looked at the two other men who still had her under their blasters. “So far just me.”

He grunted to that and his lopsided grin told her that he didn’t buy it: “If you want us to trust you…”

This time she did interrupt him: “… I’ve got foundlings to protect.” And his mouth shaped a silent _Oh_ which never came.

“You understand, they are important to us. I’m just looking for a safe place for them to grow up. Without them having to lose their covert again.”

“Foundings then.”

She simply nodded.

“The mountain range might be then what you are looking for.”

She shook her head: “Too close to the denser populated area. They … We can be self-sufficient.” She turned looking into the direction where her ship was actually located: “What’s over there?”

“Nothing much, forests, mountains with some caves, no fertile soil, so not interesting for us.” He had puckered his lips in a grin, he was reading her again.

She sighed with a hardly suppressed grunt: “Ok, you asked for trust. But before I say anything know this well. The numbers might be not impressive, but we know how to make a stand and with the foundlings in our care we are prepared for the ultimate.”

Instantly he had turned serious: “Understood and appreciated.”

“As you already know I’m a bounty hunter. Normally I work alone, but as fate had it I came under the care of a covert just before it was wiped out by Imps. Now I have the survivors with me. We seek refuge, won’t trouble anyone and stay out of sight. Maybe there are better places, but my ship’s too small to board them all for a longer time. I was aware of the history of Garos and I had calculated on landing where the descendants of Sundari lived, people such as you. I don’t ask of you to take them in or provide for them. Just to turn an eye and let them stay.”

He looked over to the other men before he answered: “This has to be discussed in our council.”

“No, I actually do not even like the many ears which are gathered here already. The less know the safer the foundlings are.”

He started to shake his head when the man, who must have been his son, moved to him and they started a whispered conversation. She looked towards the youngest who had run his mouth initially. He put on a brave show by gazing at her down the barrel of his blaster. By his nervousness she could tell that she would be his first kill, if he were lucky enough to get off a shot.

The low voices had died down, so she panned her visor back.

“If we are to let you stay we want clarity. How many are we actually talking about?”

“A dozen or so foundlings, half a dozen warriors,” then an idea struck her: “A healer is among them.”

She had guessed correctly. This information was important and right away the discussion between father and son continued.

“Good, you can stay as long as there is no trouble. First sign and you are off again.

Slowly she came to stand next to her speeder and stretched out her arm. When the older man grabbed her wrist she nodded as she said: “ _Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it._ ” She did include the other younger men. They had been witnesses to the pact and she wanted especially the youngest to feel included. After all he would be the one who would be confronted with the situation the longest.

As she walked over to him she saw his neck turn red. Although his grip was strong his gaze wandered to her now exposed gauntlet. “ _This is beautiful. Is that Beskar_?” She had barely finished her words when his awed whisper made her giggle in a low tone.

“Yes, young warrior, it is. You observe well.” He red of his neck spread to his cheeks and he beamed at her words.

After some more words, mostly about climate, game and dangers like predators she bade the three men goodbye and mounted her speeder. The three men were already on their way back to their work when she decided to actually do what she had lied about to them initially. A hunt in the forest sounded like a good idea.

With barely any cover on the way back across the plain, she wished for a duller day. The sun shone mercilessly on her back. Her only solace was that she would soon be in shades of the first stretch of forest. The trees would soon grow too thick for her speeder to pass and besides that it would scare away any huntable game. So she stopped it under the canopies of the first trees. She pulled her cloak off and gave her blaster rifle a quick check, then she wove her way into the cooling shadows.

She had been right, only just after a short distance the forest grew thick. She stepped slowly, taking in the trees that surrounded her. It was chaos with a natural plan: different kinds of pine trees and foliage trees, in lighter spots tall ferns, even some flowers with brilliant colours where a storm hat cut a clearing. She could hear the whistles and twittering of birds and some splashing and grunts.

There were too many to make out their numbers. She inched closer, using bushes and trees for covers, she checked the wind, it was in her favour. What it was she didn’t know, but they reminded her of the Grophets on Rishi and they were entertaining themselves in a large puddle of water turned to mud. She watched them closely and kept absolutely still. As she levelled her rifle she made her choice, two yearlings would bring a welcomed change in diet.

Her shots came quickly one after the other, fast enough to get both her targets. The rest was quick to run off squealing and grunting. When everything had gone quite she drew closer to the two carcasses. Just to make sure she nudged them with her foot, those spiky nodules on their foreheads could inflict some damage.

She knelt and started to eviscerate her prey, throwing the intestines into the undergrowth. When she was satisfied with her work she got the steel thread from her utility belt and bound their hindlegs together. Now she only needed the right tree limb to either hang them up and carry them or to pull them behind her. Soon she found what she had been looking for and with the weight dangling from both ends of the wood she laboured her way back to the speeder.

Her legs threatened to give in, but she was too stubborn to give up. Shortly she wondered if she was on the right way back, as the dimmed light of the forest didn’t seem to lessen. But her HUD sensor said she was on the right track.

It seemed to grow even darker and she wondered if she had underestimated the planet’s day length. Only when she finally reached the outskirts of forest and could see the sky clearly again. She saw the towering dark clouds – a storm was brewing.

As fast as she could she draped the gutted creatures on her speeder. She would make her promise come true. The Sundari farmers had been nice enough, it was time for a first payback. She saw them as they were already on their way home from the field they had been working on.

She throttled her speed to not surprise them too much, but over the wind that had picked up in volume they only heard the roar of the engine and turned when she was almost within calling distance.

She stopped her speeder bike and unmounted. Freeing the bindings of one of the animals she let it slide to the ground: “ _Mando'ad draar digu._ As promised, your share of my hunt.”

The gazes she met spoke of gratitude but also disbelief. The youngest knelt next to the dead animal and inspected it. She knew what he was looking for. Her lips parted in a toothy grin as she nodded to his awed face: “Always know where you place your shot.”

After all she didn’t have to tell him that this was the one she had shot first and that she had been lucky that it hadn’t moved and ruined the shot to its eye. With a nod towards the other men she mounted and sped off towards the Keldab.

The first drops left large wet blotches on the bike and her. When she looked up she thought she could reach the low hanging black clouds with her hand. A queasy feeling settled in her stomach as she eyed the wall of sulphur-coloured clouds which seemed to be racing towards her.

The first lightning spread a spider web across the sky and blinded her as it lit up the darkness around her. She checked the sensor as she didn’t trust her own feeling, but the temperature had dropped immensely.

The first thunder had started distantly, softly until it rose ear-deafening in volume. She had to adjust the function in her helmet or her ears would be ringing for days. The second thunder didn’t want to end and then the downpour of hail started.

She couldn’t drone out the clanking sounds which resounded in the confines of her helmet with each ball of frozen ice that hit. Only the Beskar protected her and she winced with each impact on the unprotected parts of her body. Within a short time she was soaked to the skin. Even underneath the Beskar the fabric clung to her body and made her shiver.

She had looked around, but there was no cover to be found. The only possibility was to reach her ship as fast as possible. She almost cried in relief when she was able to make out the huge form, dark against dark. Feverishly she hit the code to open the shuttle into her vambrace. Her fingers were numb with cold and she had to repeat the sequence several times before she got it right.

As soon as she had the hatch open and the shuttle protect her she let go of a sigh. Every limb hurt. She felt like she couldn’t let go of the handle of the bike let alone get off the bike. And so she just sat there and listened to the thundering sounds that drummed down on her protective shield.

She looked towards the folded seats next to her. If she could drag herself there she could at least lie down and get some rest. Her body ached with every movement, she willed it into movement. Bending and reaching over, pulling two seats down to let her hip fall onto it, reaching farther and pulling another down to drag her upper body onto it, nestling with her feet to get the last one down to give her lower body a resting place.

Each gush of cold wind sent a shiver down her back. She shoved her clammy hands between her thighs finding little more warmth. She didn’t know how long she was lying there, only that the constant drumming sound had changed. It was somewhat lighter, no longer ringing in her ears. And it had got brighter, a wide wedge of light had found its way into the shuttle.

She pulled herself together and focused in her dazed condition and saw them, gathered in the open hatch and peering out. She sighed in relief, all the scouts had made it back, now she could get some sleep.

-*-*-*-

He had been the first one to be back. The route he had chosen had proven to be fruitless. First he had almost ended up in a swamp, then his route took him to a rocky plateau. He had seen some game, at least provisions lay in that direction.

He was quite frustrated when he had come back and Tulata had told him that the pilot had taken the speeder. To spend the time he had trained with the two oldest foundlings. The maroon couple were next to come back. The forest area they had explored was slightly more promising, at least they would have cover there. But when they told of the huge imprints of a species of predator he was no longer sure.

The wind had picked up and become cold. Together with his sister he made sure all the younglings were back inside. Tulata and the other female started preparing rations to feed them. He went back outside and scanned the surroundings and the horizon for a sign of her.

Her father and Paz arrived almost at the same time. They both had been to the mountain range and told of caves which would be worth exploring. While they were talking he glanced at the black and yellow sky: “Something’s coming. We should be all inside when it’s here. Where’s she got to?” No one knew.

The hailstorm came and scared the youngest. Everybody did their best to keep them occupied and their minds off the storm outside. He couldn’t, his mind was roaming outside, wondering where she was, if she had found shelter, how long it would take her to come back.

When he had gone to the cockpit he felt something knot in him as he watched the icy balls bounce against the transpirasteel – _where are you_ – _are you safe_. He turned quickly and went to his cabin where he looked for the thickest cape he had. Then he went for the hatch. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

He turned to face Paz: “I’m looking for her.”

“You are going nowhere. This is complete madness!” It was easy to anger Paz and his loud voice drew in the others on board.

“Have to,” defensively he plugged the hand off his shoulder and was about to turn again when the black armour of her father positioned itself next to him: “ _Copaani gaan_?” He nodded his thanks and pressed the control panel to let the hatch down.

His modulator just crackled slightly at his whisper when he almost instantly saw her, she was there, she was safe. The shuttle stood open and her speeder was inside. In the dim light he could make out her body lying on the row of seats.

He ran down the ramp and slipped on the ice covered ground. With flailing arms he steadied himself as he sped on. Still ice balls slightly smaller than his fists hailed down on him, finding their way to the Beskar and between, to the fabric.

He slid into the shuttle, everything was wet and soaked. The sodden fabric of her suit looked even darker, a pool of wetness had formed where she lay. To get to her he had to move the speeder first. He almost shoved it into the cockpit to be able to kneel next to her resting form.

She was lying still, even when he touched her clothed arm. By the rise of her chest he could tell she was breathing. Gently he shook her and stopped immediately at the pained sound. Then he saw the shivers that trembled along her body.

“ _Cyare_! You are freezing. I need to get into the ship. You need to get warm again.” He knew that she was awake when she pulled her hands from between her legs. Carefully he helped , first to a sitting, then to a standing position.

“Are you okay? Can you walk?” Walking backwards he led her towards the opening. She stumbled and he made sure she fell into his arms. He looked back towards the ship. It was not far, only a few steps.

“Steady. I can carry you. Just need to get a better…” He didn’t get any further.

Heavy boots were placed next to her side: ““ _Copaani gaan_? Can’t have you both slip and break your necks.” Paz gathered her up in a swift motion. She made a small noise as the heavy infantry gave her another hitch to place her securely in his arms.

He lifted her free arm which hang loosely and placed it on cowl of the tall man’s shoulder: “Here, grip. Don’t let go.” Paz stepped wide as he made for the ship. He waited until Paz had reached the safety of the ship before he activated the closing mechanism and followed him.

The unprotected part of his body hurt and he rubbed over his arms as he followed Paz. The strong warrior made his way to her cabin from where her father motioned him to bring her. From behind he could only see how she held onto the cowl at the back of the tall warrior’s neck and the crown of her helmet resting against his shoulder.

He had to exhale deeply and willingly slacken the coil within him. He wished it was him she was clinging to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buir: parent, father, mother  
> Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it: Truth, Honor, Vision — said when sealing a pact  
> Mando'ad draar digu: A Mandalorian never forgets  
> Copaani gaan? - Need a hand?  
> cyare: beloved


	24. Marron is courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new planet has to be explored, but sometimes not the inhabitants do provide the surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist:  
> 1) Really Slow Motion - Leviathan https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fTUGk5vsVCA  
> 2) EMW - This can't be everything https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=amhEhMvPEe0  
> 3) (Tharam POV) Efisio Cross - IF YOU FALL I WILL CARRY YOU https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GhlLy2elSlI  
> and / or  
> 4) Eurielle - Carry Me https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vyn8gAYtNu4  
> 

A tensed quietness had engulfed the ship. Only occasional whimpers of the youngest ones, who were scared of the thundering sounds as the hail hit the ship’s hull, broke the silence of the adults. If they talked at all, then in hushed voices, and the scraps of conversation he caught circled around the whereabouts of their pilot, his daughter

He watched Tharam enter the cockpit, but shortly afterwards he came back, resolve in his step as he went to his cabin. When he came out again he had dressed in his thickest cloak and Dargak knew what the younger man was up to. He went to the cabin where his spares were and copied him. With the cloak reserved for colder climates he came back to see the brave being intercepted by the heavy infantry. With a few steps he was at his side and offered his help, much to the annoyance of the dark blue warrior.

The hatch had barely opened when the Nevarro brave started to run towards the shuttle. Almost head over heels he slithered on the ice-covered ground into the shuttle and furiously tore at the speeder bike to get it out of the way. Only then he was sure that the dark form behind the vehicle was his daughter, flattened out on the seats.

He was relieved when he saw her come to a stand with the help of Tharam. The young man was doing a good job as she was unsteadily clinging to his shoulders, and he caught her in her stumble, anchoring her against him.

A wry smile spread under his helmet as the grumpy blue warrior also sped forward to join his tribe member. Of course he couldn’t just help without a sly comment. After all, this man could be amusing, but also capable in his actions. Begrudgingly he had to acknowledge his strength, he had lifted her as if she weighted nothing and Tharam had helped her to find a hold in the huge man’s neckcloth.

He didn’t wait at the hatch, but made haste to open the door to his quarters and to mention the burdened man over. Then he watched the bearings of the green-blue warrior. He seemed tense as his visor never left the man in front of him. He clearly saw the dark gloves clench until the leather creaked. What he wondered was, if only worry made the young brave so tense.

As Tharam passed him he laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, smug in the way he stopped the warrior dead in his tracks: “Ready for unlacing her shoes again? Just imagine that I just gave you a wink.”

It took a minute before the younger man tore his gaze from where she was being laid down on the bed and to look at the man addressing him: “What?”

“Back on Ossus, you helped unlacing her boots, as … ,“ he tried to help Tharam to remember.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t remember. I …” Dargak stopped him with a wave of his hand.

“Never mind, just help me again. Hey, _vod_ , could you get the healer, please?” He took the grumble for a yes and pulled Tharam with him into the cabin after the heavy infantry had left.

At least this time Tharam hadn’t lost his wits and knew what he was doing. Thus it didn’t take him ages to get off her boots. Dargak had just to point at the protectors along her legs while he got her pauldrons and cuirass loose. When he unlatched her helmet and pulled it off he swore softly. Her sweaty face had an unhealthy colour and her teeth were chattering.

“Get the _gaid_ on her back out, Tharam,” he reached under her arms and placed his hands on her shoulder blades as he lifted her upper body up. He had deliberately used the warrior’s name thus ensuring his complete attention. And he was quick to comply and laid it together with the flak vest onto the gathering heap of black armour. Each man then worked off one of the vambraces.

He was just unbuttoning the flight suit as he saw the green-blue retreat. He caught him just as the warrior was about to vanish through the door: “Where do you think you are going, Tharam? I can’t get this wet, clinging thing off her. I’ll lift her. Once again, like before, get the suit off her.”

Stiffly the younger man walked over and quietly did as was expected of him. Just as his hands fell to his side again Dargak had to prompt him once more: “Roll up her undershirt, then we don’t have to move her again.”

Tharam started peeling the totally soaked , tight fabric upwards, but a hissed yelp of pain stopped him. Dargak could feel her hands suddenly digging into the biceps of his arms: “Wait. Just cut it open on the back.” She could do with a shift less as long as it spared her the pain.

The Nevarro brave pulled out his knife and started his work. In no time the fabric was cut through and Dargak lowered her onto the sheet again. Her shivering intensified as he peeled off the ruined shift. He glanced at her chest and abdomen and thankfully noted not obvious change there and he was sure it didn’t look any different under her breast band. But her side exposed to the weather showed some nasty bruises.

“The towels there, get them, Tharam. Good. Now rub her arms. Get her blood circulating.” Again the intentional use of the warrior’s name. Both men clenched their teeth at the whimpers of pain that their combined effort drew from her purplish lips. The armour had protected much, but not all and ugly bruising swellings and welts where her skin had split covered her arms near her elbows and supraspinatus muscle.

He let Tharam continue on her arms as he undid the rest of the fastenings of her flight suit. He was working fast and wriggled his hands inside around her hips and lifted them off the bed: “Tharam. Quick please, trousers off.”

“You don’t know what you are asking of me,” Tharam’s voice sounded odd, strained and nervous.

“We have no time to be squeamish. Hurry!” He turned his head to look at the sound of teeth grinding together. The green-blue helmet was dipped low, just focusing on the still clothed parts of her legs as he tug her trousers lower and finally off. The same ugly patterns as on her arms could be seen on her legs where only padding and suit had been.

Just as Tharam was about to turn and leave again he grabbed the upper edge of his cuirass and pulled him close: “I will ask even more of you, Tharam. Off with the armour.”

“Wha … But it already is …, ” he didn’t give him anymore time and reached for the clasping of the coloured cuirass.

“Yours, _di’kut_! I need you as heating pad. NOW!” When he compared the two of them, his daughter and the young warrior, he couldn’t decide who was running more shivers at that moment.

Under his breath he grumbled: “You won’t ask me as her _buir_ to do that on my own. After all it is you who is after her.”

With a constant grumbling Tharam’s hands clawed numbly at his armour the healer came in. In her hand was a jar with a greenish slave: “Not Bacta, but as effective.”

He nodded his thanks: “Get his blankets from the other cabin. He’s staying here.” There was no need to explain to the healer, she immediately knew what he meant and came back shortly after to spread out the blankets. While he started applying the ointment on her upper limbs, the healer used one of the towels to rub her legs dry.

Tharam was still fiddling off his protectors when she turned to him: “Come here, _khi’vod_. No need to feel uncomfortable. I’ve got an idea.”

He had shortly paused at her words. It was new to him that these two were related and he guessed even by blood. But he was pleased that the healer was not opposed to his idea as he watched her helping her brother to peel down the upper half of his flight suit, then she reached round him, and rolled it up. She used the long sleeves to sling them round his form and secured them around his waist. Then she yanked out his undershirt and helped him out of it: “Remember those cold nights in winter, you always kept me warm.”

“Uh-hu,” his grumbling was only shortly interrupted.

“Now there, crawl over and keep her from the cold wall,” she turned and guided him back to the bed where the trembling form lay. Then she turned to Dargak: “You, too.”

He was glad for her aid in coaxing Tharam to help with warming her up and just shrugged, it hadn’t been his plan, but the healer was right. Warmth on both sides should ensure that she warmed the quicker. He undressed the same way as Tharam, the Beskar off and the top half of his suit wrung around his hips when he saw both other helmets trimmed on him.

He could image their faces and chuckled as he looked down his exposed chest. Black tattoos trailing down his red skin, following and intersecting the lines of his muscles: “First undressed Zabrak, huh?”

Both helmets nodded, but only the healer spoke: “It is quite impressive.”

He heard the amused snort coming from the healer which made him chuckle more as he carefully lowered himself next to the ice cold body. She had curled herself up for more warmth and he almost flinched as her freezing back instinctively moved to find the heat of his chest.

Just before the healer covered them up with the available blankets he cast a glimpse over to Tharam who also lay on his side, stiff as a board. Her shins were pressed against his thighs. But then the man moved and took her hands in his, moving them against his chest. It made him smile, maybe his quickly formed plan was not ruined.

As time drew on he felt more and more uncomfortable under the coverings. With his increased body heat he had started to sweat, but at last her shudders had stopped and her even breathing told him that she had fallen asleep. There even came soft modulated snores from the other side of her.

He lifted his head to see that she had turned in her sleep. Moving slowly he untangled her ankles from his and eased himself out. As he made sure that both were still covered he could make out the tightly curled up bodies. She was lying on Tharam’s arm which he had clasped around her in an embrace. Also his other arm was wrapped around her, keeping her close to his chest. This was something, he told himself, that he could get used to seeing also when they were awake.

He placed the jar with the ointment within easy reach and left quietly. The whole ship was quiet and he listened, the quietness stretched to the outside, the hail had stopped. For an easy look outside he went to the cockpit and sat down. The clouded moons provided only small illumination, soft rain washed down the front screen. He settled into the cockpit and let sleep claim him back.

-*-*-*-

He was angry at Paz for having deprived him of his task of carrying her. Sure it was easier for the heavy infantry, but he would have been able to manage as well. Despite knowing that she was only half aware of being carried and despite having placed her arm himself, he hated how she gripped the thick fabric of the neckcloth.

He wondered what it would feel like to carry her freezing body and to lay her on the mattress. He was too much in his thoughts when Dargak addressed him, he felt dumb for not getting immediately what her father wanted him to assist with, but it was obvious that she needed to get out of the icy wet clothes.

He peeled off her boots and even her feet felt like ice. A quick glance told him that her father was working on the protective metal on her upper body and basically he wouldn’t have needed his hint to work off the Beskar on her thighs.

His lips tightened to a thin line of worry as he saw her face – pale, purplish lips, hair plastered to her scalp and eyes closed tight – and the sound of her teeth rattling without pause.

He told himself that it was just logical that she should rest as comfortably as possible and that therefore all Beskar had to be removed, but with her vambraces off he thought everything in his power had been done. The rest was up to her father and his sister, and to the pilot herself. Quietly he turned and made for the door when the Zabrak’s voice stopped him.

It is just logical, just logical. The wet fabric would keep her body from gaining back the life-sustaining warmth, just logical. Inwardly he groaned in bitter agony as he was still not allowed to leave. He really didn’t want to see her, like that, halfway undressed. The tight shift didn’t budge, and he almost flinched back as he realized that he was actually giving her pain, as he wasn’t able to get it over her sore side.

It was just logical to cut it open, just logical. He didn’t want to think of another occasion which might want him to tear or cut the fabric off of her. Carefully he held the fabric away from her skin as his knife cut the shift open.

The towel was big enough and was gratefully covering her half up as he worked on her arms. Each of her sounds of distress made him want to say sorry, yet he knew it was necessary, even essential.

But it didn’t stop there. Of course it didn’t, it was just logical. He had to let Dargak know that this was no easy task for him. This man didn’t know at all what he was asking of him. As if her pain was not enough torment for him, he didn’t want to see her half naked before him.

Yes, it was logical, but it was not right. He wondered where his sister was, had Paz not told her, had he forgotten? This time anger at the circumstance had him hang his helmet low, that and that way he could focus on those parts of her legs still covered by the suit. His work was done, he was turning around and leaving.

But he didn’t get far. There was force behind the pull. It reminded him of Nevarro, she had used the same move, fingers dug in between flak vest and cuirass. Just much more force now which pulled him towards the chest of the tall Zabrak, cuirasses almost clinking together.

 _Off with –_ JUST _– the armour_ – LOGICAL – _Yours_ –– NOT – _Heating pad_ – RIGHT. He felt insulted when her father said that he was after her, but his commanding tone, his own logic and her needs did not leave much space to not comply.

And when his sister came in, his hope rose while he fumbled at his gear. An irrational part of his brain whispered to him that she could take his place. But he was wrong, she did not even offer. Quite to the contrary. Although she was helpful and tried to make him feel at ease – he hated her in this moment.

When his sister bossed the Zabrak around, too, it gave him a small satisfaction as he squeezed himself between the wall and her trembling curled up form. Somehow he envied the Zabrak’s confidence as he nonchalantly dressed down the same way he had. His breath caught though as the tall man peeled off his undershirt. Broad chest and rippling muscles of his red skin adorned by black tattoos which more than pronounced his features. He marvelled at how it had even been possible to not have been bested by him in their sparring on Ossus.

His sister was more relaxed, he guessed that she did comparisons of her own. Quickly he discarded the thought, this was nothing he wanted to think of. It was better to find a comfortable yet uncompromising way for him to lie and to still be able to transport some of his body heat to her.

Her legs had found a way to his already, they felt so cold even through the fabric of his trousers. He reached for her hands, covering them in his. It would not be enough, so he gently pulled them against his chest. Only the coverings now placed over them kept him from getting gooseflesh, but it didn’t keep the shivers running along his spine, they came for a different reason.

This was the second time they shared a bed. The first time had been of her volition and need for comfort, but this second time – just logical. It became his mantra. He concentrated on feeling if her limbs warmed to his touch. And when they finally did he felt himself getting more and more drowsy.

When he woke he felt his hair clung to his head under the helmet. He became aware of the heaviness of the coverings and a thin sheet of sweat seemed to cover his whole body. His chest felt much warmer than his back. His whole left arm felt completely numb. It was as if he couldn’t feel his fingers at all. But that was not true. He could feel the warmth of her skin and the even heaving of her chest, as his stunned fingers ghosted over her side along her ribs.

Mentally he tried out to envision the position they were lying in. She had turned in their sleep, her back was pressed against his chest. His arm, which she lay on, was curled around her. His other arm was trapped between her arms. He could feel the softness of her cheek and her breath brushing along his thumb. She was using it as a pillow. And there was more warmth and plush softness along his arm, it cushioned him and despite the fabric covering it he could feel the heat of her skin beneath.

The swallow he took had his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he became only too aware that he was cushioned by her breasts and that actually his trailing fingers were brushing against its underside. This was no longer logical and he tried to squirm away without waking her.

He slowly lifted his numb arm from her side and rested it against the sheet on the mattress, the sensation of thousands of prickling needles distracted him momentarily. Getting his hand away from her cheek and arms was more difficult. And his first light move drew a displeased moan from her, it was an incoherent mumble, but it made him stop.

Maybe if he just turned around, naturally, as if in sleep, he could free himself. He tried to imitate a mumble, pronouncing something that could mean _got to turn_ and put his plan into action. He was halfway through and free when she somehow stretched next to him and started turning over.

Laying on his back with his arm free gave him the freedom of his numbed arm but it came at a higher prize which he hadn’t accounted for. She was turning with him, shifting and moving as she came flush to his side. He squeezed his eyes shut as every cell of his skin registered her movements, as her head nestled against his trapezius muscle, as her hand caressed across his chest to find a rest against his clavicle and as her thigh lifted and brushed along his femoral muscles and came to a rest at his hip bone, engulfing his groin with the warmth she radiated.

A grunt of pleasure and displeasure escaped his helmet. She had to be able to hear his accelerating heartbeat. No matter how he breathed, she had to be able – either with her leg or her arm – to feel his increasing respiration. His brain ran through options, thinking about something distracting, before it would short-circuit.

The shuttle where he had found her – no, it reminded him of how she had lain there, how he had helped her up and how cold she had felt as she fell against him.

The way Paz had cradled and carried her – no, definitely not a good idea, too vivid the memory as he had imagined carrying herself and the tight feeling of – he was ready to admit it – jealousy.

The way the flight suit and shift had clung to her body – no, not thinking of her body, the very body which was coiling and pressing against him right now.

The balls of hail – balls no, definitely not a good idea, it made him too much aware of the coil deep in him, slowly forming where her leg was placed, the way how her warm, soft barely clothed chest pressed against his and her semi naked state.

The speeder half way pushed into the cockpit of the shuttle – push, no, not a safe idea at all, it made him want to roll his hips and push against her leg to let her feel the effect she had on him, to let her sense how she made him feel.

His pained thinking got distracted when she moaned and both, her arm and leg, shifted. His breathing froze as her hand ran down his chest and side to rest on his hipbone, as her leg brushed lower and along his crotch, resting on his thighs again.

When she stilled her movements he dared a few shallow and shaky breaths. But then her hand travelled again and he clawed at the sheets and his body all but arched as he felt her touch on him. His voice was a hoarse plea between clenched jaws: “No … p-please … don’t. I-I’m … I’m not Denx.”

He didn’t know what tore him more. The truth making him admit that he was not the one she sought. The way she reacted when she had retreated as if stung and shuffled to the other edge of the bed or the way she stared at his deranged state.

This body ached at the loss and yearned for more. He couldn’t stand to see her that way, to see her gaping at him as she did and he turned to the wall, curling up on himself: “I’m sorry that I’m not what you want and who you long for.”

His voice was still raw and he feared the modulator hadn’t helped to hide his turmoil. The uproar in his chest felt like it ripped him apart and overrode his other physical sensations. He nudged his hands between his clenched thighs and strained to control himself, but again his body betrayed him and didn’t help him to keep the tremors at bay. At her touch high against his spine something in his body sparked and he jerked. But she kept her hand there until he gradually relaxed the muscles in his back again.

It didn’t help that he felt the mattress shift under her weight. His mind was playing tricks on him, making him think that she was getting up. It didn’t make sense though, as he still felt the warmth of her palm between his shoulder blades.

More tricks of his wishful mind as he sensed the spot of warmth spread and hair which wasn’t his tickle the skin at the nape of his neck. More tricks of his longing heart as warm breath whispered down along his spine.

Her voice was so low, just a murmur. It was no more than a husky breeze: “Time. Give me time.”

There it was again this spark that sent gooseflesh all over his skin. The vocoder rattled with his panted exhales: “Gladly.” Untangling one of his hands he moved it to his side and waited – and hoped.

The prickling tingle started at his fingers and moved further along each phalanx until he felt her interlaced fingers brush past his knuckles. His chest rose with a deep inhale and he blinked away a sudden blurriness: “When it is the time, I’ll be there. No matter when or how long. I’ll be there. Just let me know, _gedet’ye_ ”

There was a soft squeeze of his hand and it was enough of an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vod: mate, comrade  
> gaid: plate  
> buir: parent, father, mother  
> Di’kut: idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)  
> khi’vod: little brother  
> gedet’ye: please


	25. Maroon is vitality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heavy infantry and his read healer finally getting to what they could have had ages ago.
> 
> Nothing story relevant, just a first try at some heated action, more than fluff, less than smut (as far as I dared to go, so please let me know what you think of it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist.  
> pick any or all  
> 1) Theatre of Tragedy - a distance there is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=saxn3zJsOwM  
> 2) Dzivia - Voryva (Sleeping Field) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7ptAY-wj_M  
> 3) BrunuhVille - Song of the north https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eaAjP_4Gcnk

She just had to know before she could find rest. After all she had left her father and her brother to do the task of treating her, although she was the healer. She did trust them, of course, but she had also felt uncomfortable with seeing the other woman’s face, and there was also Tharam to consider.

Just a little peek to see if they were doing fine. She had made sure that the cabin where her brother resided in was empty and then tiptoed over to the other cabin. Just and inch wide, it would be enough to satisfy her need to know that she was alive and that they were doing fine.

And she did get to know. The tall Zabrak was missing, but her own brother lay curled around the – his woman. A smile stole over her face as she quietly closed the door again and although she wondered where the Zabrak had vanished to, she made her way back to her quarters. The spectacle the Zabrak had given her when dressing down to his waist had her look forward to what awaited her in her own quarters. Her hands had well memorized the features of Paz during the past nights.

When she had closed the door to their compartment she gave Paz a satisfied nod, but the answer she got was only a grunt that told her that he couldn’t care less. She noted that he was standing barefooted in the middle of the room not far from where their bed was, obviously waiting. She undid her boots and set them next to his beside the door. Then she memorized the layout of where he stood and where their mattresses were, then, without adjusting the HUD system, she turned off the lights.

His rumbling chuckle guided her blinded steps and her outstretched hands soon found the broad front of his cuirass. Quickly she was pulled against his chest and the chuckle resonated through her. It sent shivers down her spine and had her wriggle closer to him.

“How is your side?” The question was irrelevant, she had checked on him while everyone had waited for the pilot to return. But she knew it would make him grumble again and she just loved his low bass.

“All fine, not keeping me from what I intend to do.” He made his intention clear as his hands trailed down her sides and over her backside where they lingered.

“Are your intentions as dark as the room?” her insinuation earned her another growl.

“Can give you everything of me, if you want.” He sounded more husky than before but also confident in his statement.

“As much and for as long as you are willing to give.” Again his groan had her elated.

Blinded by the complete darkness she fumbled for the claps and mechanisms securing his chest plate and he only helped her to support the weight of it so it didn’t fell clattering to the ground. As soon as she didn’t need his assistance with this piece of armour any more he let his hands slide back to her rear.

She made slow progress, but his hums told her that he didn’t mind. He was totally into letting her work on him. Finally she had all protective gear off and was able to nestle the buckles of his flak vest loose. Steadily she worked it off before she let her fingers explore the closing mechanism of his suit.

Soon she found it and opened one clasp after the next. His groan had become an almost continuous purr. She had to shift slightly as she went lower and as she opened the last one she could feel the beginning excitement.

As her hands wandered upwards she drew an impatient groan from Paz. To pacify him she melted against him again and at once he showed her that he preferred that even more by pressing her with his hands on her backside against him as he lazily rolled his hips once against her.

Her breathing hitched at the coiling sensation in her core, but her hands unerringly continued their work. With a steady pull she opened the shirt part of his suit and pulled it over his wide shoulders and down his arms.

She felt him jerk his arms out of the sleeves one by one, the other hand always keeping her flush to him. Then she let her short nails trail up his bare arms and over his collarbones. The growl he let go was feral and this time it was not a lazy roll but a barely controlled thrust. The vocoder had problems picking up the other sounds he made but his chest was heaving with every breath he took.

She liked this noise it made her shiver in passion, so she traced her nails down his chest and along his sides, more carefully on the side where the patches had been. His growled _Woman_ – a threat and a promise – made her dizzy. But she smiled in glee when she made him shiver as she pulled his trousers down.

She felt him steady himself as he stepped out of them. His hands roamed over her body as he tried to catch his breath to be able to purr out: “My turn.”

-*-*-*-

He had waited for her, he guessed she was looking after the pilot, but it took all his patience to not go and find her. Patience had never been a trait that grazed him overly.

When she had finally entered the room it seemed to take ages until she had taken her boots of. What startled him was that she hadn’t adjusted her helmet systems before she turned off the light. But as dark as it was it finally dimmed on him and it made him chuckle.

He was embracing her as he felt her stepping in his vicinity and it felt good how her body moulded against his. He had felt bold in his answer to her inquiry, but as the last nights had developed he was willing to take the risk and prod her to find out how far she was willing to go this night.

Were his intentions dark, no. Greedy, yes. Every fibre of him wanted her and he smiled hungrily as he turned off his helmet systems. He hoped that he was interpreting her answer correctly as he was very willing to give her everything she wanted.

He stood very still, as she worked on his protective gear. She needed longer than normal, but he liked the feeling of her hands on him. And as much as he confided in the protection of his skills and his armour, her relieving him of it sent unknown sensations along his body and into his core.

He let his hands run down slender sides, over her rounded hips before he let them rest on the trim softness of her curved back. He loved the feel of her tensing under his fingers and he could imagine more ways of her tensing under him. Already these mental visions had him humming in anticipation.

He found it more and more difficult to find an easy breathing rhythm as she exposed more and more of him. The hot coil that spread in him made him feel lightheaded. Especially as her exploring fingers undid the clasps on his trousers.

She was a teaser, that much he had learnt already and learnt to love it at times, but not right now. His impatience threatened to get the better of him and he wanted to pull her close to him again. It was as if she read his mind and he made sure that she could feel him against her again.

He grinned triumphantly when her breathing became unsteady, he was doing something right. But she had her small revenge in undoing his breathing when she bared his skin to her touch. Yet it did not feel enough, he felt clumsy as he worked his arms out of the sleeves. Letting her go was not an option, he admitted himself.

Feeling her nails along his skin had him on fire for good. A growl was all he could voice he as pressed against her. The need to feel her had grown beyond his control. He mistook her shiver, he didn’t want to scare her, but she continued her sweet torture.

“Woman!” he barely recognised the low growl as his own voice, yet it didn’t stop her at all. And as he stood just in his briefs he knew he would make his revenge sweet as _uj'ayl_.

He let his hands roam over her body, taking his time to feel over the protected and unprotected areas. From her backside up her sides and down her spine again. Along her arms over the pauldrons to her neck and down the chest plate towards her stomach.

He listened carefully to her breathing as it became more intense and for the tale-telling hitches. He slowly knelt as he let his palms slid down along her thighs and working round the cuisses he let his knuckles slide up her inner thighs. He hummed at the gasp he drew before he rose again.

He finally started to work on her armour wholeheartedly and in a similar way she had, from top to bottom. But as she stood with only in the fabric parts before him he stopped and grinned mischievously. His hand trailed along her collarbone as he stepped around her, clasping both her shoulders when he stood in her back.

When his hands moved down her arms and up her sides he was able to feel the tension of her muscles and tiny twists of her body beneath the suit. In a confident move he cupped her breasts and revelled in her reaction, she gasped a moan, half surprise and half excitement.

She leant back against him and he relished in the warmth her body radiated. Her hands reached back, finding his rear to steady herself and his hips rolled against her rounded muscle. Only once, he was testing, but the squeeze on his tensed muscles had him repeat his movement.

He retaliated and let his hands travel down her suit, down to her hipbones, over her lower abdomen where he let one hand rest while the other moved lower to find the centre of her heat. There he just rested his hand, cupping the soft hill without applying any pressure

When she had somewhat regained control over her panting he bent the helmet lower and purred: “I warned you, but went on to be a tease.” Her giggle turned quickly into a moan again as he did apply pressure and it had her move against his hand. A low rumble of chuckle tickled her ears.

“Want you to give me everything,” the vocoder was barely able to pick up his hoarse whisper. When he pulled back his hand a whine escaped her and it took everything in him to not lower his hands again. But he reached back and caught her hands and in a slow move he placed her hands at her helmet’s lower rim, making his wish very clear.

Then he reached up to his own. His helmet’s hiss filled the silence first, but it was quickly followed by the second hiss. The sound of the last pieces of Baskar being added to the heap of armour sounded loud in their ears.

He buried his head in her hair and breathed deeply, committing her scent to his memory: “What’s that flowery note?”

Her body slowly shifted and turned in his embrace: “Honeysuckle.” She giggled softly as his sniffs trailed over her ears down along her neck.

“Suckle, huh?!” And his tongue left a wet trail on his way back to find her earlobe, it made her gasp.

“Sweet revenge,” was all he said and his hands opened one button of her suit after the next while his tongue continued its onslaught. He paused for a moment and rested his forehead against hers, once more giving her time to find her breath.

Then he changed his target, a quick lick over the tip of her nose drew another of the giggles he found himself chasing. These and the soft moans, he decided were his favourites so far, but he intended to coax more and other noises from her. He wanted hear his name on her lips. So he let his lips ghost on hers, his probing tongue was received eagerly and they sunk into their deep kisses. A game and a dance which grew in passion until both broke apart to find some air for their burning lungs.

The nights before they had done their exploring, tongues and hands had been roaming over each other, mapping out the features of the other. It was nothing they hadn’t done before, yet different. This night it was their eagerness to get the other undressed, completely, to be one.

His hands hadn’t been idle while they kissed, with the buttons opened he peeled the suit over her shoulders and as his hands guided the clothing down along her sides he sneaked his fingers beneath her underwear.

He used the time when their kiss broke well. Breathing kisses and licks down her throat and further down her sternum he slowly lowered himself, kissing along her abdomen as his hands pressed down the suit and her hip-hugging briefs. Her grip on his shoulders was strong as he kissed his way further down.

He was intoxicated by her scent and when her legs trembled he knew he had found the right spot to retaliate her tease manifold.

He barely felt her nails digging into the flesh of his right shoulder, or the weight of her leg on his other shoulder. He had learnt quickly what made her squirm and pant and he had succeeded in making her cry out his name.

When her helped her back on two feet he supported her trembling body and coaxed her back the two steps he knew would cover the distance to the mattress to lie her down. Supporting his weight on his hands and knees he kissed his way up along her panting and writhing form until he could nudge his nose into the hollow beneath her sternum.

His own breathing had become heavy, but he didn’t give himself much time to recollect. He shifted his weight onto one hand and he let his other roam over her ribs until he could feel the beginning of the soft mound of her breast against his purlicue, the most tender and sensitive part of his hand between his index and his thumb, while his breath ghosted over the risen knob of her other breast.

Her back arched up to him with a moan that caught as his tongue flicked out. Giving her breasts now the thorough attention and tease it had been neglected before. Again he listened intensely to her moans, repeating those touches which had her moans peek to make sure he gave her the pleasure she deserved.

Despite his own need he was careful in how he proceeded as he knelt in a hovering position between her thighs. But she did have none of it and made her own desire known when she wrapped her legs round his waist and used her own weight to pull him down to her. Slowly he let her lower his hips, gradually resting more and more of his weight against her pelvis.

A shaky groan rolled up his throat: “Do you know what you are doing?” He just wanted to make sure. He just wanted her to be sure that she knew what she wanted. Barely able to restrain himself he just so gave in and experimentally rolled his hips against her in long and slow motions.

“Yes.” Her answer, breathed between rasped moans was almost too much for him.

“Have you ever…,” he didn’t get any further. Her hands had reached down and tugged at his briefs in a way that bordered desperation. His brain short-circuited.

“Stop talking.” His chuckle turned into a groan when she finally succeeded to get the fabric over his buttocks. He broke their contact to get properly rid of the last barrier, casting it aside carelessly.

When he dipped back he groaned into their deep kiss. He didn’t know how long he could keep up the tease but despite her affirmation of willingness he hadn’t got an answer to his other question. But as he wanted to savour every moment himself and relish in their passion as long as he could stand it, he continued with his slow and careful approaches. Until it was too much for him.

Breaking their kiss and stopping his touches he slowly trailed his hand down. Between his panting it was difficult to form words let alone sentences. He could feel her slick readiness and he wheezed in anticipation as he positioned himself: “I … can I..” She rose her hips instead of wording an answer. And he could feel her warmth and he sank into it.

He had rolled on his back with her flush on his chest and body as they lay panting in the afterglow. He could feel the heat of her quick exhales on nape of his throat and her fingers tickled along his still racing pulse. Lazily his fingers trailed random circles on her back: “Hhmm that was …,” he trailed off when his heated skin tingled with a cooling sensation as her tongue moved from the corner of his jaw down to his collarbone.

Tilting his head back he waited for what she had in mind. When she pressed herself up with her hands planted on his chest and moved her legs to either side of his hips to straddle him he got the hint and bucked under her.

“Making up for the time we lost?” he would need a bit, but he was sure willing for round two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uj'ayl: thick scented syrup used in cooking


	26. Maroon is fortitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the little ones have more brains and guts than the big ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist (will come up soon)  
> 1) (confrontation) Clannad - Battles https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GYaH5ZmLfRw&list=PLJdP6kZNQvK2GuLjjRMRDqtGfFKYk3oHW&index=10  
> 2) (interrogation)Loreena McKennit The Mummer's Dance https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3UwJ9E4YX0&list=RDehgR37IrnTY&index=16

He had woken up in the cockpit to the shining sun and was now sitting over his morning caff as the heavy infantry sauntered into the common area. He saw it in his stride and it lingered in the air. He bet the broad man had experienced a nightly boost to his already big self-consciousness.

He watched with a saturnine grin the man’s step falter for a second before he continued his strut towards him. With a nerve-wrecking calmness he continued to sip the hot liquid before he unhurriedly pointed towards the kitchen area: “Means to make breakfast for you and your _riduur_ over there.”

He knew he was edging the man, but the sooner they would get over with it the better it was: “ Just try not to spill too much in the darkness.”

He gave his next jibe a long thought while the heavy infantry was working at the kitchen counter. He waited until the man was loaded with the tray full with a breakfast for two when he looked up to him and gave him the most earnest look he could muster: “And maybe you can keep your next rounds less noisy, there’s kids on board.”

He watched with a fiendish grin that bared his teeth as the seething turn into hot blaze. The quivers that ran up and down beneath the blue armour exploded into action. The tray was all but slammed down on the table he sat at and the massive vambraces and dark gloves shot out to close around his neck.

He was barely able to block one off, but the other tightened round his windpipe. His neckscarf did help only so much to keep the huge hand from closing. He threw himself into the seat as his feet kicked out and the man off him.

He was up and out of the lounge right afterwards. Despite all his bulky appearance Walking Wall was much faster than he would have guessed. A bruise on his throat would tell of his underestimation of the man.

He prepared for the next attack, when he saw the woman rush out of their compartment. At his quirked eyebrow the Nevarro warrior slowly turned his head.

She was definitely not amused. She spat at them with an angry but hushed voice. Of course she was right, waking up the others had not been his intention. She threw tirade at them both and she made very much clear that any part of the ship was off limits. Somewhere along her outburst he lost her but what he very clearly heard was that if they really had to be at each other throats the sparring – she had emphasised the word very intensely – would be done in a proper setting.

His grin didn’t subside: “ _Jate_. When we don’t wake anyone, and outside.”

He was quite astonished how easily the situation then dissolved. She had got the tray and asked him to clean the mess, which of course he had agreed to. He even had admitted with a shrug that it had been his fault.

As he was at it he prepared more caff. He guessed the commotion hadn’t gone unnoticed by the others on board, so he made more caff. He was already sitting back in the lounge when the first younglings stormed in.

As soon as the saw him they skidded to an abrupt halt. The smallest didn’t know what was happening as a shriek escaped one of the older ones – _Demagolka_ – and made them scramble back to their quarters. All but one. A small boy, he guesses about eight years old stood his ground.

He took a sip from his mug and tilted his head at the boy who stared at him with large green eyes. He gave him a soft smile: “Hungry? Breakfast?”

“Are you a monster?”

He had to chuckle and shook his head: “Neither a devil. I’m a Zabrak, this is what my people look like.” He rose slowly and walked over to prepare the food for all. He was sure that the screaming younglings would run to the couple staying with them. He hoped that they would do the explaining needed.

“You like Bantha milk?” he turned to the boy who hadn’t moved an inch. “Do you?” He prodded again. There was only a slow not, but those huge green dishes never left his features.

“Are they real?”

“What do you mean?” He tried to follow the eyes of the boy which clearly didn’t not linger on his face but slightly higher. He reached up and touched one of his horns: “These?”

Again the boy nodded slowly, but this time he took a step closer.

“Yes, we Zabrak’s do have them all.” He dished out a portion on a plate and together with a filled mug he returned to the lounge area.

“Does it hurt when they grow?”

He liked the boy’s questions, though childlike he had them thought over. He shook his head “Not at all. It is just like with your nails.”

He sat down and curled a finger at the boy to come closer. After a minute he did come closer and without taking his eyes off him he sat down in the lounge. Even while he was eating his stare lingered, it roamed, but never left his face. Dargak just continued sipping his caff.

“Can they hurt others?”

This was a question he had never encountered before. He rose an eyebrow as he trailed his fingers over the different sizes horns. “That is not why we have them, but I guess I could hurt someone with them. But I might have a headache afterwards.” With a grin he winked at the boy.

Slowly a smile spread on the boy’s face then he got very serious. Dargak’s smile also slowly fell and he wondered what kind of question the curious boy was coming up next. He thought the braveness of the small warrior to be very admirable. And again he was confronted with a question no one had ever asked him before.

“Can I touch them?”

Dargak let his tongue glide over the sharp ridges of his teeth and thought about it When he looked into the boys eyes it was almost impossible to deny him the wish. These eyes – they reminded him so much – Varya had the same green eyes and it had been impossible for him to deny her anything.

Slowly he got up and moved out of the lounge. He was still undecided as the boys gaze followed him. With a step he was standing next to the boy and lowered on one knee. He smirked and winked: “Careful don’t hurt yourself.” Then he lowered his head.

From the corner of his eye he saw the boy’s hand rise and reach out. Only from the movement of his arm he could make out that his horns were explored one by one. Only when the small hand took hold of strands of his dreadlocks he felt the tingle on his scalp.

“Your hair feels rough.”

He slowly lifted his head again and he saw that the boy still had one of his locks in his hands. He nodded with a smile: “Yes, it is different to yours.”

He wasn’t actually astonished when the small hand reached for his forehead. He felt the small fingers tenderly trailing along his tattoos. It tickled him and then the boy reached his cheeks where his morning stubble still was.

“You do get a beard?”

The questions were so simple they made him laugh with a low rumble: “I can if I wish to.”

“Is it also rough then?”

He had to shake his head as he chuckled, the boy seemed to have just warmed up. Where the first questions had come slowly, almost reluctantly he had them coming in quick succession now: “Even rougher.”

“Is it normal to have yellow eyes?

The boy way inspecting him thoroughly, noting all the differences: “Yes, but we Zabraks can also have read eyes. Some say these are more beautiful.”

The boy tilted his head in consideration: “I like yellow better. They look like fire.”

“Oh, thank you.” He quickly flashed his eyes at him. “And you have pretty green eyes, just like my _ad_.”

Varya had never done any exploring of that kind. She had been too small when he had found her and then she grew up with the familiar sight. It had helped that many different species could be found in the tribe.

On the one hand he had been glad that she had never asked. On the other hand it had lead to the problems she had had with the tribe’s members who were now dead and his failure to tell her.

“You have an _ad_?”

He ruffled the boys hair “Yes, the pilot is my daughter.”

“Does she look like you?”

“No, she is no Zabrak. She got green eyes like you and copper hair, as soft as yours.” Again he stroke over the boy’s head and marvelled at the large green eyes which never left his.

“Where is she?”

This had his smile falter, he cleared his throat: “Remember that hail storm yesterday? She got into it and got hurt. She’s resting in her cabin.”

“Oh, I hope she gets well soon.” Before he could do anything the boy’s arms had sneaked round his neck and he was hugged fiercely. He wrapped his arms round the small form. Then he heard the secretive whisper: “You know, it is ok to be sad when you are sad.”

He rose his eyebrows and his voice was as conspiratorial: “What do you mean?”

“It is ok to cry when you are sad, came the whisper back.

“Am I sad?” He wondered, he had been more or less all smiles while talking to the boy.

“I think you are, it feels like you are.”

He inhaled deeply, was the boy really feeling anything or did he just transmit his own feelings. “ Are you sad?”

“A bit. I miss my _buire_.”

Although it was not his loss, he still felt the grief invade him. With the boy clinging to him he slowly rose. He smiled as the child quickly wrapped his legs round him as he held him: “You know, it is ok to cry when you feel sad.”

There was only a quiet nodding, but he felt the small shoulders shaking. That was when he started his slow pace around the lounge area.

He hadn’t counted his rounds but somewhere along he had started to hum in a low voice, just for the boy and himself. He was just turning to start his next round when a dark blue wall blocked his way.

Taking a step aside he just walked round the heavy infantry and continued with his round. When to bulky armour intercepted him again he just shook his head and mouthed: “Not now.”

He didn’t care what Walking Wall wanted. The child in his arms had calmed and he was not going to let anybody interrupt that. He still had a way out and he took that road. Down to the compartment of the maroon couple and the other children.

Sooner or later they would have to get used to the sight of people looking different than themselves. With one of them in his arms it might help to show them that he was no threat.

He waited in front of the open door, the calming voices of the adults could be heard. He addressed them in a soft voice. He was sure the woman was about to tell him that it was not a good time, but then she saw the child in his arms and mentioned him in.

Slowly and quietly to not jostle the boy he sat down. He waited until the last child had settled somewhat again before her started to talk with his most silent voice. The one he knew had always calmed Vayra.

“I’m not a monster or devil. I’m a Zabrak. People from my planet look the way I do. It might look fearsome. But be sure I’m no danger to you. The pilot is my _ad_ , that is why I’m here. She was my foundling, just as you are foundlings. Have a look at your _vod._ He will be a brave warrior. He stayed and faced me. He dared to ask me and to get to know me. Ask him about me, or better even be brave and talk to me yourselves.”

He knew he wouldn’t get any results right away, but he had given them two options. He tapped at the boy’s back: “Time to let me go now.”

When he was released he rose and nodded towards the adults: “Food is ready. I’ll be outside, there is still the game she brought to take care of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> riduur: wife, husband, partner  
> Jate: good  
> Demagolka: someone who commits atrocities, a real-life monster, a war criminal - from the notorious Mandalorian scientist of the Old Republic, Demagol, known for his experiments on children, and a figure of hate and dread in the Mando psyche  
> ad: child, son, daughter  
> buire: parents  
> vod: mate, comrade


	27. Maroon is dominance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Understanding the other can happen in different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist  
> 1) (Tharam/Vayra) Clannad - Crói Cróga https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r06mXc83Bfg&list=RDehgR37IrnTY&index=23  
> \+ Enya - Anrion https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMyo8I8AKmY&list=RDehgR37IrnTY&index=18
> 
> 2) (Paz / Dargak) Joseph William Morgan - No Tomorrow https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9m75aZAGcZA  
> \+ Immortal Battle https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A39mXBTYLZs  
> +for the end definitely: Is this the end https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8OIbo8isOck

The man that crossed the distance in a rush had problems to steady himself and she thought it slightly comical to watch his approach. But she was grateful for the trivial distraction, it kept her mind from concentrating on how cold and wet she felt and from the pain of the sores.

The grating of metal against metal sounded painful in her ears, but she didn’t have the strength to scold the green-blue warrior for treating her bike so carelessly. Only when she felt the soft jolts which resulted from his touch she couldn’t keep back the sound from escaping her throat.

He was mumbling something she didn’t get, her mind was a foggy swamp his voice couldn’t reach through. What she instinctively got, was that his prodding was to help her to get to the warmer safety of the ship.

Even through the freezing, sodden clothing his hands felt warm. Warmth, she needed more warmth and the light escaping from the ship’s open hull looked promising.

Her head swam when she was finally standing. The green-blue became blurred – just a few steps. She could make it. Since when had the small ramp of the shuttle become so steep? Where was the feeling in her legs?

The coloured blur came closer and there was again the soft murmur. No, it wasn’t just next to her helmet, there was a dark rumble farther off, just before she felt losing her footing completely.

Where was the ground? Since when did she feel the squeeze of arms holding her against Beskar? The jostle hurt and pushed the air out of her lungs. But there was something to cling to, fabric which felt warm to her touch. Just a little warmth, she wouldn’t let go of it.

Floating along felt nice, also the brighter getting light, as well as the increased warmth of circulating air. The strong grip was replaced by the softness of a mattress, if only it were warmer.

But it didn’t get warmer, it got colder and colder. She could feel the hands working on her, on her armour, on her suit. Why couldn’t they just let her be? Cover her up and let her be? Why did they have to make her feel even colder?

Her jaw hurt from the constant clenching of her facial muscles, but no matter how much she tried the waves kept coming and spread throughout her whole body. She couldn’t hold against it anymore.

And then the pain set in and rattled through her even worse. She wanted to twist away, she couldn’t. It drew all the breath she had left from her. Finally, they left her alone – _no, not again_.

She wanted to work against it, against the lifting of her hips. No, not more cold to bare skin. She tried to kick struggle, to kick out – too weak, too much trembling – too cold.

 _No, not again_ – her arms hurt, but at least the pain sent some warmth, until something cold was spread on them. But the pain along her legs distracted her – her brain short circuited, torn between the sensations.

 _Finally_ – no more added pain, no more added cold, just turning and curling up. Instinct – _curl, make yourself small_. Instinct – _seek warmth_.

There was a source of warmth in front of her, warmth for her legs. There was another source of warmth, even more – heat, heat for her back. And warmth for her hands, a firm warmth, a velvet yet slightly coarse warmth.

Finally – warmness!

_‘Today is just for us.’_

_The shuttle had set down on the sandy strap of beach. Bordered by high cliffs on either side the cover was cut off the world around it. But all this was not important. They had time to themselves._

_The shallow waves were caressing her skin. The coolness of the water was broken by the warmth of his body floating with – under her._

_The breeze of wind refreshing as the sun heated her skin. The tingle of the sand that trickled onto her chest and slipped off her as she turned to find the warm heat of his body._

_She loved to caress him, to sense the rise of his chest as he inhaled deeply._

_She loved to softly scrape his skin and feel his straining muscles._

_She loved to count his increasing heartbeats._

_She loved to run her fingers over the coils of muscles of his abdomen and the V-shaped muscles that led to his core._

_She loved the feeling when he came to life in her hand and the way he would moan and coax her with jerks and rolls of his hips to make him …_

“No … p-please … don’t. I-I’m … I’m not Denx.”

It echoed loudly in her ears and she was awake instantly. Without registering how and why – _I’m not Denx_ – it had been enough for her to scamper away from the voice and source of warm firmness.

Wide-eyed she stared at the man she had been lying with. No, not only with but more or less lying on. It was the green-blue helmet with its blue visor. Not green and red. It had only been a dream.

She couldn’t see his face or eyes, but she knew he was staring at her in bewilderment. She just knew from the way his chest heaved, he was barely able to get enough air into him.

She couldn’t help but stare, slowly separating dream and reality. And the more she stared the stronger the feeling of bewilderment got. Until he broke away, turned away.

“I’m sorry that I’m not what you want and who long for.”

She heard his breathlessness, she heard his coarseness. She was a mirror of the panic he felt. He was a mirror of the turmoil in herself. The feeling towered up in her, she had to break it, before it broke both of them.

When he curled up and still shivers ran along his back something made her reach out. Something made her seek contact although it made him jerk violently. Something felt right as she kept the contact, it helped him, he slowly relaxed. It broke the dark tower that threatened him and her.

The wall of desolation that had towered in her weakened as she inched back, closer to the back that was turned to her.

The tower of self-inflicted isolation that had incarcerated her dimmed as she rested her forehead between his shoulder blades.

For the first time in a decade she felt like she might be able to dominate the feeling of devastation and replace it with something that was not going to destroy her.

With time she might be able to empty her inner self and let it be refilled with something new.

“Time. Give me time.”

With each inhale of his scent she knew that duty and loyalty might be the new colours in her life. They were willing to give her the time she needed, no matter how long it would take. “When it is the time, I’ll be there. No matter when or how long. I’ll be there. Just let me know, _gedet’ye_ ”

It was enough for her to tighten her grasp on his hand, to let the warmth of his skin trickle into her temple and cheek as she pressed her head against his back, to slowly calm down her breathing.

She smiled as she realized that they both had found the same slow rhythm of breathing. The warmth he radiated felt inviting, but she needed to make sure before she inched closer: “May I?”

For the time of a long breath there was silence, then she heard his smiled: “Gladly.”

When they woke up again there was no frantic scrambling away. She had snuggled up against his back. Their hands were still entangled, though her arm had slipped over his side and she could feel his body rise and lower in his relaxed breathing.

It transported a calmness into her. Shortly her eyes widened in understanding: _Through victory you gain harmony_.

He must have sensed that she was awake, because she felt his hand softly squeezing hers: “Rested?”

She hummed in agreement, feeling too lazy to actually answer.

“Shall I get my sister to look at your bruises?”

“Hmmpf no, can do myself.” Her nose brushed over his back as she shook her head and he giggled softly at the tickling sensation.

But he sobered rather quickly: “Would you let me help?”

She felt the calmness lift to give way to a soft nervousness until she nodded against his back again.

When he had slipped off the bed and helped her to sit up, it felt normal that he took his place next to her, it felt comfortable to feel his warm hands with the cool ointment on her skin.

He was calm and reverent in his demeanour. Something had changed in him she noted. A new spark seemed to burn in him. His hands never shook and the visor was firmly gazing on those parts of her body he treated.

He lidded the jar and then he sat in silence at her side, waiting for the salve to be absorbed by her skin. When she turned her head he met her gaze. She felt his fingertips ghost over the back of her hand – _I’ll be there –_ and a smile started to play along her lips – _let me know, please_.

Arching her palm she edged her hand upwards The heat of his hand spread instantly on her skin as he accepted her invitation of contact. His exhale came with a hum in which she could hear his smile.

When it was time he quietly offered to help her to get dressed. Shortly she hesitated before she told him to get a fresh set from the locker, but then she remembered, he had seen the armours already, back when she had needed his solid form to stabilize herself again, back when they had shared this very bed for the first time.

-*-*-*-

He went outside and opened shuttle. It looked messy, the puddles of water had turned a sick shade of reddish brown as the carcass had bled out. At least that wouldn’t have to be done now. He pulled the dead animal out, glad for the strong piece of wood which he could use to hang it up upside down.

With the sharp drop-point blade skinning the animal was easy work. He inspected the rawhide and decided to keep and work on it later. Building a frame to scrape it of the rests of texture and tanning it would require more of his time. Right now it was important to preserve the meat.

The maroon warrior, who joined him in his task of deboning, was of great help. They had worked in complete silence for some time, when he stopped and watched the obviously experienced man. So far he didn’t know much about him and his partner.

He didn’t know how long they would stay, how much longer they would need to find a proper place to have the tiny tribe settled. And until it was time to depart he want some sense of team spirit to develop.

He cleared his throat to catch the man’s attention. He noted his nod although the dark visor preferred not to look at him directly: “Besides not removing the helmet what else are taboos? Would hate to overstep out of ignorance.”

The visor quickly swivelled to gaze at him for a second before the gaze was broken again: “Not sure. Our life seems quite different to yours. Our normal is not yours.”

This was as evasive an answer as he could get: “True, how about I just ask and you tell me?”

A shrug expressing uncertainty was followed by silence. He waited until the visor gave him another quick glance.

“What about names are they shared, spoken when there are no _aruetii_?” He knew what Tharam had told him, but he was a _beroya_ and often outside the tribe. He wondered what it was like when they were among themselves.

“Would you mind me sharing mine with you?”

The man took his time thinking over how he would feel with that knowledge. Then his visor trailed towards his face again and stayed, a short forward nudge told him to continue: “Dargak Kryban.”

He perceived the slow, rather deep nod of appreciation. He detected in the slow and quiet voice how unused the marron warrior was in sharing this personal information: “Bril Rull.”

He also nodded his respect: “Good name. Strong name.”

He watched the man straighten subconsciously. He didn’t even have to ask him if he shared the names of the others. He would have to ask each and every one by one. But Bril was a start. He liked the competent way of the warrior.

“You were the scout when we arrived at the ship?” He needed the nod only as confirmation. “You were good, well hidden. Only a tiny glint exposed you. Guess it came from the visor.”

The head tilted and he had to smile. The same tilt when Tharam was unsure or about to ask, a tribal trait he decided.

“How did you know where and what for to look?” He had his curiosity, a good start to work with.

“Experience. Been a _beroya_.” The visor rose shortly in acknowledgment. He was sure the maroon warrior would commit the hint to memory.

They continued and finished their work in silence. Together they brought the usable parts inside. He would dispose of the rest away from the ship. When he stepped out again he had his axe with him. Picking a tree and the branches he needed to strap the hide to was his next intention.

With four suitable lengths of wood he came back and set up the frame. Carefully he punched the holes along the edge of the hide with the thorn-shaped reverse side of the axe, the sinews served as thread to stretch the hide.

He had just finished his task when he felt the presence in his back. His mouth twitched in resentment, the infamous heavy infantry had exited the ship and he hadn’t heard or seen it. The air of authority wavering off the dull blue armour should have been hard to miss.

He rose and turned, maybe more fluent than actually needed, but some small intimidation was never out of place. He let his scowl rest where he knew to find the other man’s eyes and waited.

The healer’s instruction, or better, order had been to not fight inside. Now they were outside and it was time to settle their dispute. For him it wasn’t about who would give the orders. For him it was clear that it was not his place to himself above their set up hierarchy.

But he refused to be belittled and ordered about by the heavy infantry. And if this meant to dominate him in a fight to make that clear he was willing to give his best try. He was realistic when he admitted to himself that he would try.

The sparring with Tharam had shown him not to underestimate the members of the Nevarro tribe. He would have to be careful of the man’s strength and agility. He had already seen both present in the man before him.

He knew he was watched closely as he started to loosen the straps of his holsters on his thighs. The dark visor followed his very movements of stripping off the utility belt and unsheathing the various knives from their plain in sight and hidden places.

A small arsenal was slowly forming a heap and he had a hard time to conceal his mirth behind a mask of scowl as the helmet followed with tiny movements. He could imagine the incredulous look. Of course he had geared up to the fullest, just like back then, in the good old times of bounty hunting.

Last came his vambraces and at the curious tilt of the helmet he explained by activating the retractable vamblade. A grunt which he interpreted as approval emanated from the blue helmet and a pair of blue vambraces where placed next to his.

Under the scrutinizing gaze he gathered his dreadlocks and secured them with the strip of cloth before he pushed them beneath his flight suit. With his neck scarf wrapped tightly he was finished with his clothing. Last came the helmet which he had taken outside with him.

He was sure that the different mechanism was closely inspected as he donned and closed the helmet round his face. He knew that it was fastened tightly, but just for the show he gave it several testing pulls. It was only fair that the heavy infantry shouldn’t be given any false hopes of ridding him off his helmet.

He stepped out with purpose. After all, he knew where he had laid out their circle of combat. Not too far off for convenience but neither too close to disturb those who preferred to stay away from their – he had to remind himself – sparring.

He entered the ring and positioned himself in the middle before he turned around. The steps which had closely followed had fallen silent just as they were accompanied by another more rushed fall of steps.

The healer had followed them and a wide smile played round his lips as he saw that she had brought a quite large bag with her. Very likely with contents of medical treatment. She was talking with a hushed but urgent voice. More instructions for the heavy infantry.

Shakes and nods of the blue helmet told him of agreement and opposition to her suggestions, or whatever it was she told him. He just waited passively until his opponent was ready to enter the ring himself.

His eyes lingered intently on every movement when the heavy infantry walked up to him, an arm’s length distance was left before he stopped. He needed to assess correctly if he wanted their upcoming wordless communication to work in his favour.

Draw them into moving and learn about their way to move – he started his prowl.

Same as his – right side was his the strong side. Step’s stride slightly uneven – he was used to have his left leg in the front, his right as support in the back.

Quick reflexes and trained muscle memory – he hadn’t gained any advantage in changing the direction of his circling other than that Walking Wall had decided to initiate act two.

The strikes and jabs came quick and he returned them. Neither man gave an inch, act two was about who could land the first hit.

He took a punch into his lower ribs which made him stagger sidewise. He was followed immediately, Walking Wall wanted to end it quickly. It cost him to break the momentum and reverse it.

He was glad for the killing instinct that made Walking Wall rush after him. He grabbed the wrist that was stretched out to grab him and ducked below him. Using the rush of motion the bulky man was still in he loaded him up.

He didn’t completely straighten, not with such a weight on his shoulders. But he retraced his way with a wide step as he pulled at the wrist, his other hand on the man’s thigh shoved.

He barely made it out as Walking Wall became a wall crashing down to the ground. Stumbling back he held his side. He panted and each single one hurt. The Wall scrambled back to his feet, the fall had made him pant too.

But he had to give him that, the Nevarro brave came back right away. Wary now, more careful, yet still relentless in the raw power he put behind his strikes and hooks.

Too late he identified the intention of Walking Wall, hooks and crosses had drawn him closer in. Less weight was his disadvantage. And it was used against him. His block was countered, his wrist grabbed.

He struggled against getting pulled. When the hand let go of his wrist, the arm slid along his and his throat was caught in the crook of the elbow. Massive muscles of the arm tensed crushingly. Walking Wall had him in a chokehold.

A single panicking thought flared up – _he clasps his hands and you are done_ – he heard the metal of the plates, his back the others front, clank at the impact.

He wouldn’t have been able to answer in hindsight, but what the healer saw was that his hands reached back, clutched the blue helmet, pulled it onto his shoulder and then he let himself fall - down and forward.

He had wanted to make Walking Wall roll over him, but he was too heavy. He just came down on him and the impact shattered him.

The Beskar bore into his shoulder. Something shattered in him. It was loud enough for both men to hear even over their grunts. He heard the other man’s and his own, even more pained one.

At least the hold had broken too. Both thick arms were placed on either side of his arms as he let himself fall completely. More distance, he needed more distance for his long limbs. He punched upwards, jabbing against the hovering collarbones.

His punch tore an aggrieved bellow from him. Moving his left arm hurt, the impact hurt, grabbing the fabric of the suit hurt. But he needed the right angle as he rolled his lower body up. His legs scissored beneath the blue helmet, ankles crossed.

He wouldn’t let go now, no matter how much the hands tore at his legs. He was lifted halfway and brought down on – of course his shoulder. His scream deafened him and in the blinding flare of pain he tensed even more. His ankle hit the ground hard – the Nevarro warrior tried to roll himself out and away from the hold.

More pain – of course he had come to lie on his shoulder. It was on fire and he feverishly prayed for the other to finally give up. Rolling off his shoulder meant lessening his hold, giving it up. He wouldn’t be able to avert another onslaught. He would lose.

He slowly rolled off his shoulder. He felt the taps on his thigh, two in quick succession, just as his hold broke, and everything went slack in him. His legs were untangled as the Nevarro warrior struggled to come to a sitting position.

He just kept lying and panting. It cost all his will to rise his head to watch the heaving blue bulk. Before his helmet thumped back against the ground he saw the red healer approaching.

With certainty he knew that he was the loser in this fight. He had not been able to best the other or dominate the fight. The only thing he didn’t know was why the heavy infantry had tapped off. Had he really been that close to passing out or …. The thought lingered.

When the woman had finally reached them he could hear her irritation: “Are you finally done now? Can I come to mend the left-overs now?”

He just rolled his head to get her into the line of his visor. His chuckle was weak: “I’m not a dish.”

The roar of laughter coming from Walking Wall was hoarse, but definitely much stronger. Yet, he was beyond caring. He had got to know the other man through combat. A kind of communication every Mandalorian understood. With their nonverbal communication over an actually verbal one might follow now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gedet’ye: please  
> aruetii: stranger  
> beroya: bounty hunter


	28. Maroon ensures survival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> getting closer can be done with pain or with words, or just in silence
> 
> (there is some unpublished continued Paz/Tulata smutty scene, but as I do not really know how I should feel about going more into detail I left it out - Up to you readers, tell me what you think, if you want it added.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist  
> 1) (Paz-Dargak) Les Friction - Louder than words https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6F1d0gW3V30  
> 2) (Tharam - Vayra) Les Friction - Who will save you now https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaSbFPiihOY

He heard Tulata’s voice as she asked him to wait. She was anxious, but he just assured her and promised her to be careful and not too hard on the other man. But some things had to be made clear and being not too hard meant in his case that you would kill the Zabrak then and there. After all the man gave the impression to be able to uphold, even against him. At least for some time.

Of course she had been right when she pointed out that they still needed every helping hand and the pilot. Him hurting her father wouldn’t be the best way to ensure her further help if needed.

He had watched his way to move as the warrior from Ossus was walking before him and came to a halt in the middle of the ring. When Tulata was finally done with her lecturing he sauntered carelessly into the ring and only stopped when he was almost within reaching distance.

He was being measured, just as he had catalogued the other man. He was several pounds heavier, a fact that he would use. He might be underestimated when it came to his agility, he would exploit that too.

When they exchanged their first punches he wanted to test the Zabrak’s reflexes and stamina: Had living on Ossus made him weak, that was the question. What the lighter man missed in power he made up with his fast blocks and returns. He couldn’t believe his luck when he landed a jarring punch into the man’s lower ribs in an unprotected moment.

He didn’t want to give the Zabrak any time to recover as the man staggered away from him and set after him to grab him again. The man had strength and this move was new to him, so he fell for it and he fell hard. He made a rough guess that only his own weight had saved him from falling from an even higher point, as the man didn’t lift him all the way. Just enough to be able to swipe through below him.

He couldn’t get a hold on him or he would have tried to take the Ossus warrior down with him. Thus he was just able to scramble back to his feet after he had got some wind back. But the pants of the Zabrak sounded off, he had got him well with his hook to the ribs.

He could have done without getting thrown, but otherwise he was enjoying himself. Finally someone that made sparring worth and not only for a short round before they gave up. They had always given up too quickly for his taste, the only exception had been the _beroya’e_ , Tharam and Din. They both had some mean moves thanks to one or the other cantina brawl on their hunts.

He had to be more careful in his approach or he would get to know another trick which he could do without. But he made sure to put even more power into his punches, now, if only he could get closer and a grip the still lithe man.

His wish to win over the Ossus warrior was still present but something lingered. With each jolting jab or kick he took or barely avoided his respect grew. He would have liked to continue, but the man hadn’t read his lure.

He blocked the hook, countered, was blocked and used his chance. He grabbed the black suit and, with a wide side step, brought himself to the same height. He crocked his arm and with another fast step he was standing flush at his back.

He would have liked to dominate him in a more honourable way. But as soon as he would have clasped his hands together there would be no escape from his chokehold, surrender or pass out were the options left for the Zabrak.

He felt his helmet getting yanked forward and then the level of his whole body was changed. His eyes widened, the Zabrak was letting himself fall. He grunted as the impact jolted his neck and a pained grunt escaped the modulation of his helmet. But his brain registered the anguished sound that came from the other warrior.

Stemming against the pull which the black warrior exerted was his only chance of not losing his footing again. Thus he felt the impact of the fists punching against his collarbones the more. He had to move up and away before … but he couldn’t, the man had coiled up and used his thighs for his own chokehold

Breaking away, it was his only chance. He straightened, halfway, the Zabrak was a deadweight, so he let go. He heard the muffled yell when they both went down in a crash: It must have been the man’s shoulder, but he didn’t loosen his hold.

Even with his strength he couldn’t undo the grip. He had to or pass out. The more his vision narrowed to more he relied on his hearing. His own panting came heavy and heaving deep from his chest. The other man’s pants came shallow, ragged, in an anguished way – he was lying on the very shoulder that had connected with his helmet.

The hold would break if the man rolled and he already felt the shift, the leg’s tremble increased, their hold weakened. He tapped twice, quick in succession. There was no honour in upholding when his opponent couldn’t continue. He was right in his assumption, the man didn’t move to sit up, he kept lying on his back.

He mustered him, the shoulder looked off, something was wrong with it. Tulata seemed to know too. But it was the warrior’s reply and not her comment that made him laugh. He liked the Zabrak’s sense of humour.

He steadied himself on a knee and held his hand out. The black one took it and he helped him to a sitting position. He got a nod in return when he indicated with a nod towards the man’s shoulder: “Let’s patch you up.”

The Zabrak pulled his right glove off and fingered along his collarbone. He winced but after an inhale he chuckled: “You give the old saying a completely new meaning.”

He didn’t get him: “What do you mean?”

The chuckle grew louder: “Ori'buyce, kih'kovid. Yours is a striking argument.”

When Tulata also giggled he shrugged. He would never admit it though.

-*-*-*-

He instantly felt relieved when he felt her squeeze on his hand. Breathing became easier for him and the pressure of her head high on his back was something he could concentrate on. When she asked for permission he was not really sure what she meant, but gave his consent nevertheless. He soaked up the warmth of her body that aligned with his. And before he knew it he had drifted off to slumber again.

When he woke he heard a tiny hitch in her breath. Quietly he gave her hand a calm squeeze. And the calmness continued. There was nothing rushed in the way they got up. The peace in him didn’t lessen as he helped with the salve and as he sat next to her.

The tranquillity stayed when offered the contact of their hands and she did seek it. Something had changed in her. Even when she pointed him towards the shelf with the wrecked armours to get her a set of fresh clothing she kept this new found calmness. Maybe his hopes weren’t that unwarranted.

To give her more time to rest he offered to bring her caff and something to eat. Although she grumbled a bit at first he was able to convince her. Maybe it was the way he wagged his helmet at her with a snicker. Maybe it was because she did understand that he wanted to spend more private time with her.

When he came back with the tray and food for two, her eyes lit up in realisation. He stepped back towards the door and waited for her nod to lock the mechanism. When he positioned the chairs back to back she took place in the one facing more the door.

He sat and pulled off his helmet which he placed on the floor next to his chair. He enjoyed the experience of their small meal and he hoped the feeling was mutual. Sure, there was still the lingering feeling of novelty, but they were alone and he trusted her.

More than once their hands or arms brushed against each other in their closeness, but neither shrank back. And when they had finished he rested his hand on the table, within her reach. When she placed her palm in his he tentatively asked: “Good? Fine with you?”

For short moment his heart sank when she didn’t answer, but then he felt her head rest back against his neck and he leaned in, feeling the relaxing calmness return.

-*-*-*-

After the heavy infantry had helped him up he was able to make the way to the med bay without support. He tried to step as lightly as possible. The constant agitated mumble of the healer next to him didn’t make treatment by her something he looked forward to.

The result might not have been completely to his liking – getting injured had definitely not been his plan – but in the end the overall outcome counted. Both men had earned the other’s respect and from there they could start to work together, instead of against each other.

When he had lowered himself on the stool her command came pointedly: “Strip.” She was also a force to be reckoned.

He bit his tongue to not quip back, not with the heavy infantry lurking in the door frame. Their truce was too tender yet. Getting the cuirass off was cumbersome and neither of the Nevarro tribe members made a move to help him. It was their little punishment for his antics.

He groused that he had to undo the flak vest too. But he would definitely not strip his whole upper half – oh well, yes he would, she made it clear. Her jabbing finger came dangerously close to his shoulder as she raged down on him.

He gave the blue helmet an exaggerated sigh, but was only answered with a deep belly laugh. The darn Nevarro brave enjoyed that it was not him she got her first wrath off on.

Some words came repeatedly – _stupid, childlike, no good example, careless, irresponsible_ – and some more. He sighed while he stripped down to his undershirt. Slowly he got the notion that the healer did it on purpose, but what for?

An ointment and a sling to rest his arm in, no Bacta – not for this foolishness – and keeping it still for several weeks. He could have done that himself. He only hoped that the blue warrior would also get his fair share which would wipe the hearable smirk off his face.

When he left the med bay he was stopped short by the green-eyed boy who scrutinized him thoroughly. He let go of a sigh – _not another scolding_.

“Why are you hurt?”

He ran his hand over this shoulder: “Your heavy infantry and I sparred. He is a strong warrior.”

“Who won?”

“Errmm …” He was not sure and looked back at the bulky man for help.

Astonishingly he did get help. The huge man came over and knelt before the boy: “Both and none. It wouldn’t have been honourable to continue as he was hurt.”

He had his answer. Inside the rough demeanour the heavy infantry hid consideration and perceptiveness. But there was not much time to reflect. On the one hand there was boy who was pulling at his good hand and on the other hand there was the healer who called the heavy infantry to her.

He was lead outside and around the ship by the boy. Within calling distance he could make out Bril with his _riduur_ and the other younglings. The adults were keeping them busy with playing and training stances.

He nodded at Bril and only when the other man addressed him by his name he answered likewise. The other maroon helmet swivelled between him and her husband: “Maybe you should tell her, would be less awkward for both of us.”

That way he got to know Fina too. She was a bit shy but all in all less reserved in her behaviour. Her curiosity about his very being was obvious. And while they were talking slowly the younglings drew closer too.

He chose a rock to sit on and asked rather politely and explicitly everyone present if it were ok to remove his helmet. There was no real opposition, just an agitated mumble among the older ones. He was challenging everything they had been taught, and as some were just old enough to soon swear the Creed he could guess about their turmoil of seeing an adult Mandalorian willingly take his helmet off.

Before he actually did remove his helmet he explained they way of his tribe. Slowly he was drawing everyone closer with his story. Just the boy with the green eyes hadn’t had to be lured in, he had come to sit next to him in the boulder right away.

He told them all he know about Iridonia and Dathomir and how his home world had fared in the last war and the wars before, about the time when the Empire had taken over and how they were connected to the Old Republic, even about the Mandalorian conquest thousands of years ago.

When he reached up to unclasp he pointed out the different design of his helmet and why they were needed due to him being a Zabrak.

“I have touched them and they don’t hurt,” the small boy blurted out. It earned him chuckles from the adults and gasps from the other younglings. Jus the smallest were unaffected.

“Ready? No one scared anymore?” He just wanted to make sure. Then he finally did open the helmet and slid it off. They boy’s hand was instantly at his neck, pulling at his dreadlocks to get them out from under his neckscarf and suit.

His shoulder cracked under the movement and he was reminded why the healer had said to keep his arm still.

He had to answer a lot of questions and bear a lot of touching. But the behaviour of the green eyed boy had prepared him. All of a sudden all the young ones were more than intrigued. He endured everything with a proud posture and a lopsided grin.

-*-*-*-

When he rose he knew she was standing more or less in his back. He looked at the black helmet with the red visor and shrug to the Zabrak: “My turn I guess.” A grin tore at his mouth when he let his helmet hang in an imitation of the healer’s brother.

It definitely made everyone present laugh, everyone knew who he was referring to. On his way towards their compartment he chuckled as he wondered what would await him.

He didn’t get far. His healer was standing in the door and curling her finger at him. Sure he would follow this command. He was only with one foot over the threshold when she pulled him in and turned off the light.

She shove him back, using his weight to press the door shut: “You had me scared witless.” Her helmet clanged on the floor.

“Good to know that you care:” He fumbled blindly to lock the door then his helmet followed. It was in the way she plucked at his armour and in the way she kissed him feverishly, she let him know that this time she would be the demanding and passionate one.

-*-*-*-

When had wagged his helmet from one side to the other she couldn’t help but join in in his snicker. She didn’t exactly know what he had in mind but he had come back with the food and the caff. At the sight of the two mugs it dawn on her. It became even more obvious when he asked quietly for permission to lock the door. An when he placed the chairs so they could sit back to back it was more than clear.

She felt the curiosity rise in her. She had felt his face in her hand, had cupped his cheek, had trailed a thumb along his cheek and had let her little finger outline the side of his straight nose. But other than that she had no clue.

She hated how glimpses of Denx stole into her imagination. She didn’t want them to compare, she couldn’t allow it. When the time came he shouldn’t be a substitute for what she had lost. He deserved more. She hoped that one day she could look at this man without remembering the other. Something ached in her when she admitted to herself that she would have to let him go or leave if this never happened.

The brush of his arm against hers gave her a giddy feeling. What was this feeling, it seemed so familiar yet long forgotten. And when she saw his hand lying, waiting with his palm open to receive her, it was on instinct that she placed hers in his. The same instinct which had her seek more contact by leaning her head back and feeling the warmth spreading from his neck.

They had spent some time like this, resting and relaxing, getting comfortable with the closeness. When he leant his head back some long strands of his unruly hair tickled the skin of forehead. She hummed softly as she let go of a deep inhale.

She was still sunken into this feeling of calmness that she didn’t realize that he lifted her hand. Only when she felt his breath warm against her skin she opened her eyes. Her only reaction she was capable of was swallowing once, hard as his lips placed a soft kiss on a knuckle.

She had forgotten about the bandage and couldn’t remember if she had lost it on her ride through the storm or if it had been taken off. But her brain didn’t have any time to work properly as a second kiss was placed on the next knuckle. He was working his way through all four before he replaced their hands back where they had lain on the table.

Her blood was suddenly singing in hear ears and she felt a heatwave rolling from her head to her chest. She had to remind herself – he had said that he would be waiting, but he hadn’t said that he would keep still. A smile slowly played at the corner of her lips. She had to admit that she somehow liked his act of devotion and even bravery, maybe it came from all the calmness around them.

She was unsure how to break this moment of silence, but she had to know as well as the others. When she stirred he immediately loosened his grip on her hand. She waited until she heard the familiar sound of the helmet’s closing system only then she stood up.

When she turned the green-blue helmet gave again the wagging sign and she could imagine a very smug grin hiding beneath it. He got the tray and after he had taken it to the kitchen area they started their search for the others.

The ship was quiet, so they would probably be outside. They had to look around a bit before they saw the group of children and three adults. The maroon couple and the children had gathered around her father. She assumed that he was very likely entertaining them with a story, just like he had when she was still small.

But then she saw what he was up to, he was removing his helmet and much to her surprise the younglings didn’t run away screaming. As she drew closer the saw something white around the back of his neck. And with each step she could detect better how rigidly still he held his left side.

When she looked at the warrior next to her she only got a shrug as answer. Of course he only knew as much as she did. The next wonder she was able to make out was a small boy whose eyes were hefted without faltering on her father. The old charmer had already found a fanboy, she had to chuckle.

But not too loudly, not too full of mirth. She still had to keep her composure as a suspicion made itself known. With her out he might have gone and fought Big Blue and as it seemed not with an overall favourable outcome for himself.

When she came to a stand in front of him she crossed her arms in front of her chest and just nodded at, what she could plainly see now, his arm in a sling.

She knew that apologetic grin and what was to come: “At least now everything is clear.”

“Uh-hu, and how long does it take?” She felt the anger rising in her at how stupid he could be.

He shrugged: “About four weeks.”

She shook her head and sighed: “Six more likely.” Looking around all the children she had an idea: “You just got appointed to caretaker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beroya’e: bounty hunters  
> Ori'buyce, kih'kovid. - "All helmet, no head." (Mandalorian insult for someone with an overdeveloped sense of authority.)  
> riduur: wife, husband, partner


	29. Maroon must not be forsaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you have to cooperate trust is essential, but trust can only be gained through knowledge of the other… it got time that some start talking

Some time passed until Big Blue and the healer joined them outside. She would take every bet that not only she and her father shared a knowing smile, but that also helmeted faces displayed the same smiles.

All of a sudden everyone one was very occupied with whatever was at hand. The maroon warrior dragged two of the oldest _ade_ back to training. His _riduur_ was suddenly busy getting a hold on the youngest who was conveniently about to crawl off. Her father turned to the small boy and engaged him in a conversation.

Just she stood dumbstruck, well not she alone. She heard the shuffle of feet just behind her. The green-blue warrior was also at a loss about what to do. Annoyed she shook her head, why should they feel awkward. Despite their desolate situation it should be something the tribe should be happy about.

So she kept a pleasant smile on her face as she watched the two come closer. Yet she still called herself lucky when the healer addressed her right away and inquired about her health. She rolled up her sleeve to emphasise that she was doing and healing well. Nevertheless she got an appointment for later that evening.

With a commanding voice Big Blue called those who had wandered off together. It was time for everyone to relate their explorations, which had been cut short by the hail and her rescue. With a nod at the warrior accompanying her the blue helmet announced who was to begin first.

He turned and pointed in the direction where he had headed off to: “Wasn’t really lucky. Down there is a swampy area with some nasty creepers. Don’t think we find a dry patch of land there to hide out on. Besides this marsh land seems to be vast. Not much game there either. Went over there, to that plateau next, it is quite barren and we would be much too exposed, but saw lots of tracks and droppings of herbivores, so we should be able to make that a hunting ground.”

The couple were the next and followed their tribe member’s way to point out where they had gone exploring: “Well, _al’verde_ , game can be found in the forests that are over there, too. But there is also something bigger. We saw paw prints of a formidable size. If we are to find a home there we need secure housing. Would hate to wake up with something the size of a Blurrg trying to get at us. The forests though are quite dense and could give us cover.”

Big Blue nodded towards her father. She wondered slightly, hadn’t both men walked off in the same direction. It spoke of the heavy infantry to let her father tell of their findings.

“Over where the mountain range is we found several caves. Some are just small, half flooded or caved in. But there are several which are rather large, maybe even linked underground. It would definitely take time to explore them completely, but I’m sure that at least one or two would do as a kind of housing. Judging from the warmth that comes from some I think that they might have something to do with a volcanic system. It is up to the _al’verde_ , but it might be a good idea to concentrate your … our search there.”

Said commander nodded again at the Zabrak, they seemed to be on good terms. So maybe her father’s pains were good for something. Over her musing she almost missed the nod towards herself.

“Well, I wasn’t out seeking for an accommodation for you, but I wanted to find out about those who would be living closest to you if you decide to stay here. There are some things that speak for them, they are Sundari, farmers and want to keep to themselves. They agreed to not bother anyone as long as they are not bothered. I tried to warm them to the prospect of a neighbourhood and gave them one of the animals I had hunted. If you keep that up you can trade with them and maybe they could even get what you need from one of the cities without you having to ever show there.”

The green-blue warrior reacted taken aback: “You have been hunting although the storm was coming?!”

“When I went into the forest the weather was still good and no hint of a storm and later, when I brought them the game. Well, thought I could make it. Didn’t think it would get that bad.” She glared at him, why should she have to explain herself at all.

“Cut it.” The _al’verde_ made a step towards them. “We need a plan for those caves. Exploring the most promising, instead of wasting time and resources.”

The bulky warrior turned back to face the Zabrak: “Can you remember where to start best?”

“He is going nowhere, you made sure of that.” She was back into her I’m-pissed-stance with her head tilted and her arms crossed. Not even the quickly turning mass of blue directly in front of her made her change it.

“Ask your healer. He can take of the younglings instead.”

The healer was quick to come to her assistance and the heavy infantry conceded to agree that she would get the information from her father and go in his stead. Of course a certain other had to utter his objections, but she shrugged them off: “I’m sure _your_ _ori’vod_ will give me clearance.”

Again the Nevarro brave reacted stiffly. She had stressed the fact that the healer was his older sister and that she knew about it, not much thanks to him. Somehow she thought that the nod the healer gave her was one of approval and likely even one of support.

Whatever it was, it made the green-blue warrior turn abruptly and stomp off: “Will prepare for the trip then.”

She was staring after him when the clearing of a throat pulled her attention back. Her father gave a quick and assuring smile: “I best show you the area which I think most promising.”

Together they ventured off back to the ship. He wanted prepare a map, but an idea made him stop: “Your shuttle as scanners. We should try to gather intel from above for a better layout of this area. Pointing at towards the rising ridge he explained what he had in mind.

It was a good idea. With the small shuttle they could get close and cover a much wider area than of foot. Scans from above to get the layout of different entrances and then working from both sides towards the middle would give their work some structure.

She smirked at how animated the Zabrak worked through his plan: “You just want to stall your detention time on the ship.”

“Yes, I indeed might be guilty of that. But we are both aware, that this clash was on its way. Sooner or later it was due. I made it sooner to take off of its edges. Now we both are able to assess and value the other better.”

She sighed: “I only wished that you hadn’t been injured.”

“And I wish that I could say you should see the other one. But you know, the larger the rock, the harder it falls. It could be worse and it was my own fault. As soon as I’m healed I will challenge him to another sparring.”

His grin was wide at her incredulous gasp: “You are exasperating!”

With an annoyed groan she changed the topic then: “Let’s get started the surveillance flight, there’s not that much day time left.”

She was preoccupied with preparing her shuttle. The bike had to be pulled back from the cockpit and the wet mess on the floor had to swiped clean. When her father returned they set off. She made sure they used to lasting hours well.

When she flew over the ridges she noted some strange rounded dents in the surface which she pointed out to the Zabrak next to her. He nodded and mapped them. Another peculiarity caught her attention, a foliaged area with something blueish glinting between, when she lowered to the side of the raised area she could make out a small brook. She made a mental note to go there herself.

It took them until the light had faded so much that it was impossible for them to make out things clearly. It was time to return to the ship and share their knowledge.

-*-*-*-

He was angry at himself but mostly at her. She was barely back on her feet again and already on the move again. And he was not able to keep her from it. He paced in the cabin assigned to be his quarters. His pretence to prepare for their excursion long forgotten.

The knock on his door interrupted him: “Who’s there?”

“Me,” he heard his sister’s voice and was immediately reminded at how the pilot had phrased her words. Bitter bile rose in his throat at his own inadequacies. He should have told her, but when would have been the right time, he scowled.

“Guess making you wait won’t make you go away?”

“Nope, _khi’vod_.” She sounded way too happy. With a resigning groan he let the door open.

“What do you want?” He really didn’t want to talk to her.

She walked into the room and sat down in one of the chairs. She crossed her arms and legs and by the way her foot dipped relentlessly he could tell what she was up to: “Do you think you accusing her and questioning her abilities will you gain any favours?”

“What … I haven’t … “ He was cut short.

“Yes, you have. Wanting to protect her should not end in holding wrong decisions against her. As far as I know you, you would have done the same in her position.”

“But I …” Her hand told him to stop.

“No, whatever you want to say, just don’t. And if you want to talk, do so, but to her. Which you still haven’t. You haven’t told her that we are related and because of that she got angry at me. As soon as she is back you will talk to her, and you will do that before she comes to see me. I will not suffer her anger again for your sake. Is that understood?”

He was shuffling, his whole body a display of his discomfort: “Yes, _ori’vod_. Understood.”

After she had left, he let out a deep inhale which he had held without realizing. He turned around his room and started sorting things. It was unproductive as he just ended up replacing things. Upset he tore out cloth and oil from one of the boxes and sat at the table.

Starting with the gun in his holster he took it apart, neatly placing the parts in front of him. The mechanical work of cleaning, oiling and putting the weapon together calmed him down. There were still some guns left which he could tend to in order to finally sort his thoughts.

As the light was fading he had gone through his persona arsenal and the one in the boxes in the storage room. If she wasn’t to come soon he would have to ask Paz and the Rulls for their weapons.

-*-*-*-

She had landed next to the ship. He had opened the hatch of the shuttle and the first sight he perceived was a pacing Tharam. He cocked an eyebrow at the younger man and at the expectant swivel of the green-blue helmet he nodded back over his shoulder.

When Tharam made no move to come closer he walked over to him. “What’s wrong?”

“Did some thinking. Need to talk to her.”

He lifted his head in a tilt: “Yeah, she didn’t like your reproach.”

“I didn’t … I mean … it came out wrong.”

His lopsided grin grew wider: “Uh-hu it sure did. Now go and use your time well. I’ll keep the others at bay.”

As he walked up the ship’s ram he looked back and saw that the Nevarro had drawn closer to the shuttle, standing just outside the lowered ram. As neither of them was a big talker negotiations might take a bit longer.

He wrapped his hands together. It should not be of his concern as long as they weren’t at each other’s throats. He would share the time with the others and bring them their news and he had a notion that some nice warm and hot food might be just the thing everybody could need right now. With the meat fresh and the storage full he could make some proper _Tiingilar_.

-*-*-*-

He was standing at the entrance of the shuttle and waited, when she left the cockpit she stopped short. He instantly took one step back, he didn’t want to give the appearance that he wanted to corner her.

“Can we talk?” With he head lowered he gazed at her just through the upper part of the T-visor.

“Is there anything to talk about?” The scepticism in her voice made him edgy.

“Things … This afternoon.” This wasn’t the start he had imagined over and over again. He had varied the scenarios, but this one hadn’t come to his mind. “ _Gedet’ye_.”

She shifted at his plea and finally understood that he didn’t want to talk where they were at the moment: “Lead the way.”

He lifted his helmet towards her and something made him hold his hand out to her. His heart thumped hard in his chest until she stepped forward and when she lifted her eyes from his hand towards his visor he thought it might just jump out of his throat.

He hoped his hand was steady enough as she finally placed her hand in his. He had made out a fallen tree trunk just near the thicket where the forest started. There they could sit within sight of the ship yet be undisturbed.

He straddled the trunk and lead her to sit alike, still holding her hand. She had placed her free hand on her thigh and he slowly reached out and placed his on top.

“I’m sorry for what I said this afternoon. It came out the wrong way. I wasn’t questioning your decision. I just … I was worried. I…”

The squeezing of his hands kept his risen heartbeat from accelerating even more.

“I … My _ori’vod_ talked to me after you left. … She was angry with me too.”

He thought it a good sign that the corners of her mouth twitched.

“I’m sorry, I should have told earlier that she is family, my sister. I don’t want you think that I keep something from you, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell you. I … There was never the need to talk to others about myself. So I’m at a loss about what you would like to know.”

A soft smile was on her lips and it made him continue.

“I … we fled from the purge. _Buir_ said that hiding was the best way to survive. The _verde_ made sure that … not many came with us or made it back to us. My sister made sure that I was raised properly.”

Her question had been soft: “Your _buir_?” He only shook his head.

“My _ori’vod_ became my _buir_. There was the tribe, yes but no family. We were our family. When I came of age I wanted to provide. There was no family, so I provided for the tribe.”

“As _beroya_?” This time he nodded.

“My first _oya'karir_ was shortly after I had come of age. Our _beroya_ took me along. I screwed it, totally. He had to save my hide and the bounty escaped.”

“The burn mark on your shoulder?” He shook his helmet.

He lifted her hand with his and placed it between his collarbone and his chest. Her eyes widened, she knew what that meant: “Lung.” He nodded slowly.

“I did say that I screwed it. Went straight through the dura-plate I wore back then. He spent the money we had made so far on me. For the med centre. Saved my life. Never said a word about it. Made me join him more instead. Till I learnt enough and went on my own hunts.”

When she studied him, he gave her time to put the pieces together: “The _beroya_ is the one on the run from the Imps.”

“Yes, wish I could do more for him.” He grew silent. The knot in his chest made it difficult for him to think of something else than the worry that spread. But she pulled him out with her next question.

“What about the burn mark?”

“A few years ago the bounty I was after had found help and when I arrived they lured me, trapped me. They wanted to burn the stable to ashes and me with it. Was quite sturdy, so it took me a bit too long to get out unscathed.”

“Did you lose that bounty too?” She was not making fun of him, it was just curiosity he could see in her eyes.

“Nope, I made sure that I got him and the others for good measurement. ” At her rising eyebrow he added: “Settled for the lower reward, couldn’t be bothered to take them in alive. Just wanted to go back to the covert to heal.”

“So you came around as a bounty hunter?” It took him a while to understand what she actually wanted to know and when he did, he felt the heat warm his ears and cheeks. But he wasn’t giving up that easily.

“Well, yes one or the other planet or moon.”

Her lips tightened shortly to a line, but it took her a while before she finally voiced her question: “What about partners?”

Before his saucy grin could find its way into his voice he bit his tongue: “Well, besides the _beroya_ back then I worked alone.”

She groaned and if he hadn’t held her hands she would have face-palmed herself. Or him, he wasn’t sure there.

“ _Di’kut_. I told you about D-Denx. I’m asking about … yours.”

He quickly squeezed her hand and leant forward, making sure she was looking into his visor: “No partners, no lovers.” He paused, the hot sting on his cheeks increased, the sounds of the early night seemed to waver in and out of ears.

“I … on Nar Shaddaa … They … he meant that it’s … that it’s good … that I should know.”

“Who? The _beroya_?” He shook his head and quickly made sure they were alone.

“No, the _al’verde_.” He would kill him if he ever got to know and his sister would deal with what was left of him.

She just nodded once and he suddenly felt as if that was the worst mistake of his life. He told himself that it was nonsense, yet he had to make sure: “Is … is that … bad?”

He watched her scrutinising gaze until it made him shift on the trunk. A wry smile spread on her lips and only then she shook her head: “Not really. Sounds like it was some time ago”

He nodded and made sure he was seeing correctly, yes, she was leaning forward. Slowly he inched closer just stopping short of resting the Beskar of his forehead against hers. When her hand moved over his _Beskaryc Kar'ta_ his heart seemed to skip a few beats. His hand quivered slightly when he placed his hand overs hers again.

If she couldn’t feel the beat of his heart through the Beskar he wanted to make sure that she could feel his breaths. Listening to her slow breaths calmed his own and he didn’t want to move, so he closed his eyes.

He felt when she untangled her hand on her thigh from his hold. There was a moment when he felt the warmth through the fabric of her trousers, but his attention was diverted soon. His breath came to a halt when he felt her hand on his shoulder, moving to the nape of his neck, until he felt his helmet being softly pressed forward against her forehead.

“Hmm could get used to that.” His voice was just a soft murmur, just loud enough to not drown in a static of his vocoder. And her equally soft giggle made him smile.

“I fear I have a date with your sister.”

He was totally shocked and unable to move when her heart slipped up from his chest to the lower rim of his helmet, tilting his head up, aligning it with hers. If it hadn’t been for the blue of his visor he would have been able to press his lips on hers.

Her eyes sparkled as an impish smile crept onto her face; “You are adorable when you get shy.”

He inflated, gasping several times, but nothing would come from this opened mouth. With a deep sigh he let his helmet sink to his chest. At least he wasn’t putting her off with his awkwardness when it came to matters of the heart.

He looked after her as she walked back to the ship to meet his sister.

-*-*-*-

She went to the med bay, through the open door she could see the healer in her red armour. She made herself known and entered. The woman immediately pointed towards the med cot and she sat while the healer closed the door.

She grunted softly, she didn’t think a check-up necessary. But she was up for a surprise when the healer just pulled the chair closer and sat down.

“Did he finally find his mouth in your presence?”

She had to snort amusedly: “If want to ask if he talked to me. Yes, he did.”

“I’m not going to ask what he told you. Yes, as an older sister I have a tendency to try to watch over him. He is kind of accident-prone. Not to say he can be a complete disaster.

She nodded with a giggle: “ _Kaysh shu'shuk_.”

“I took care of him from an early age on. It bonded us. But since he came of age I learnt to trust his skills and abilities. Especially after our _beroya_ took him under his wings. He is my family and I love him dearly.”

The healer was quick to interpret her inhale: “No, please hear me out. It is difficult for us, driven away, hunted, secluded to the underground, keeping to the shadows, relying on secrecy, cut off from other, all that has formed us and, I fear, the way we treat others.”

The red helmet watched her intensely: “It is nothing we do on purpose, it is just that we got so used to it. Back in the cockpit you said something about secrets that we keep from you. We don’t, not intentionally. All I ask of you is that you give us time to get used to the new situation, to you.”

She watched as the healer ran her palms up and down her thighs. It was not easy to keep still. But she had one side, now she intended to hear out the other side too.

“When you said that I was checking you out, you were wrong. I have to admit that I was and still am curious about the woman my brother got interested in … errrm … . But he is a good judge of character and …”

She couldn’t keep still anymore: “Wait, he actually said that he is interested in me?”

The healer sighed: “You should know better by now than to assume that he said anything. I guessed from the way he acted. He has never been that intense before. Not even the mildest interests, despite … well the choice wasn’t vast – but nevertheless, not interested. I watched him since you were brought to the covert. You changed something in him.”

She had to press the air out of her lungs to release the inhale: “I changed something? You take it for interest or …”

The red helmet immediately nodded: “Very much so and more . I’ve never seen him overwhelmed that way.”

She felt the redness creep into her face, but at the same time a knot of fear spread within her: “I don’t know whether I can be what he wants.”

“Never worry. You don’t have to be, just are. That is what makes him fall for you. And, I’m sure he won’t pressure you.” The healer was quite confident in her brother, but after all she knew him best.

Still she shook her head: “You don’t understand. I cant … can’t lose another – _Through serenity you gain strength_ – lo...” She gasped and spattered in a coughing fit. Clawing at the mattress beneath her didn’t keep the world from spinning violently.

The healer was at her side and pressed her shoulders down onto the cot, then she moved to her legs to lift them: “What’s wrong?”

She swallowed hard at the different taste her salvia has taken on, she had to keep the bile down: “Dunno. Comes. Since the temple. Feel like losing control, like invaded.”

Only slowly she gained control of her senses again. The healer talking her through her breathing helped. When she was feeling better enough to sit up again, the healer’s posture expressed concern. But she waved it off: “It’s ok. I’m fine. Still thanks.”

She paused for bit, her father had taken the first step and had succeeded in the maroon couple opening up enough to share their names. Maybe it was her turn now: “Vayra, Vayra Kryban. Clan Varad.”

A moment of silence followed and she already thought that she wouldn’t get an answer, when the healer finally spoke: “Tulata, Tulata … Tern, Clan Vizla.”

She tilted her head at the other woman immediately added: “Shae, not Pre.”

She reached up and scratched her neck with a crunched face: “Need to freshen up my history lessons.”

“I can tell you later, but right now I prescribe bed rest. I’m sure we will have a busy day tomorrow.”

She nodded, the healer was probably right. They would set out early in the morning. Again in teams, the couple, no she had to correct herself the two couples and she and the green-blue warrior.

She reflected for a moment. His sister had halted, but then given her full name. She was not interested in the clan, but she suddenly realized that she had been given a family name. The Nevarro brave had become more than just a coloured armour, he was a Tern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ade: children  
> riduur: wife, husband, partner  
> al’verde: commander  
> ori’vod: big sister, older sibling  
> khi’vod: little brother  
> Gedet’ye: please  
> verde: warriors  
> beroya: bounty hunter  
> oya'karir: hunt, chase  
> di’kut: idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)  
> Tiingilar: hot spice Mandalorian dish (effect comparable to fresh horse radish, just more!)  
> Beskaryc Kar'ta: Iron heart, Beskar heart  
> Kaysh shu'shuk: He’s a disaster


	30. White is purity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> caves for the relocation of the tribe have to be explored
> 
> sorry but not sorry this chapter turned out to be much more fluffy than intended, I felt like I needed and I hope some of your readers needs it too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist  
> 1) (cave) Clannad - strange land https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yf8ihut03cM&list=RDehgR37IrnTY&index=28  
> 2) (lake) Clannad - Coinleach Glas An Fhómhair https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ehgR37IrnTY  
> and/or arrrgh can't decide … pick for those two idiots any you like  
> 3) Enya - Athair Ar Neamh https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lr_f_VYeA2Y&list=RDehgR37IrnTY&index=12  
> 4) Enya - Na Laetha Geal M'óige https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TqfFWQq7sLM&list=RDehgR37IrnTY&index=34  
> 5) Enya - On your shore https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JYJISBzcW4o&list=PL60K6RNy0N6yhgiTpc_DVCaZeMBam27dJ&index=3

They were all up before sunrise. Provisions were packed and with everything and everyone in the shuttle they set off towards the ridges. She landed two times, first to let the heavy infantry and Tulata and then the Rulls out. The third time she landed it was her time to start the exploring. Hers and the Nevarro brave’s, Tern’s.

It felt strange, even forbidden, to know that much of his name already. Just letting it wander through her mind made her feel uneasy. The healer, his sister Tulata, had halted deliberately before revealing their family name. She hadn’t let it slip, she had given it a thought before letting it drop.

Soon enough she found the little brook. It was well hidden, just a trickle of water and it took them some time to trace it back to the hole in the wall where it came from. The entrance was small enough to not be easily detected. Shrubbery was overgrowing the dark notch in the rock.

She looked up its length and guessed its height to be about eight feet. It was wide enough to fit through the bike and thus a man, even one as wide as Big Blue. She shouldered her pack and slipped the rifle from its scabbard on the bike.

Her escort took his backpack and followed her. With the light of their helmets switched on they entered the darkness. It was slightly humid and the ground slippery, their steps resonated with a soft wet sound, each single step. The warmth that engulfed them increased the further they ventured.

Columns of jet black stones formed the walls and when she looked up she wondered at the hexagonal shape of the stone clustering snuggly together and forming a natural arched ceiling. Where ever their helmet-lights hit, a glittering sparkle was reflected back at them. It was to be found everywhere, on the ceiling and the walls, sparse dots, long stripes and even deep pockets. It was an unworldly experience to wander through the dark canal accompanied by this kind of fairy light.

The path was winding, sometimes forking. Whenever they took a turn she mapped and marked their way. Some forks would have ventured too far off from where she thought she could end up by their view from above the day before. These she gave up quite quickly, others ended in rather spacious pockets. Even if not for constant settling this cave has proven to be usable to some point already.

When she finally saw a the dim shine of natural light, her step increased. She was glad to have the sky above her. But what she saw as soon as she stepped out of the dark tunnel made her stop abruptly.

In fact she halted so suddenly that the warrior behind her missed it completely and bumped with a clank of their armours into her. His momentum shook her forward and she would have stumbled and fallen if his arms hadn’t wrapped round her shoulders in reflex.

She was totally entranced by the sight when she clasped her hands over his, he hadn’t let go of her. His helmet was also trained on the sight before them.

Due to the early morning a fine mist was hovering over the crater of the extinct volcano. The lowest area was filled with a small lake of the purest turquoise. Fine ferns and reeds lined the lakeside, lush green bushes and small trees were set further from the shore. The chirps of various birds could be heard.

Her eyes swept around and she gasped at the sight of a long thin waterfall that came down on the other side of the crater – that was where the small blueish line in the landscape, which she had seen from above, ended. The mist where it met the waters of the lake clad the whole back in an eerie vapour where a dim rainbow quivered in the morning breeze.

She felt the arms loosen around her as she was drawn to the water. She switched off the helmet light and adjusted a scanner of her HUD system. Only then she peeled off one glove and dipped her fingers into the water. It was warm, bordering a pleasant heat. How nice it would be to let her body sink into it.

“How much time to we have?” The words were out of her mouth before she registered saying them.

The green-blue helmet tilted at her questioningly. She curled her finger at him: “Come and feel it. If we have an hour I would really love to enjoy this little paradise quite selfishly.”

He came forward, but there was a falter in his step. Only slowly he hunched down and his fingers immersed in the water. His helmet came up quick in surprise, but his voice had a hoarseness which she couldn’t place.

“Ermm, yeah. Sure. Go ahead.” He turned abruptly.

“What? You are not going to join me?” She knew she was tempting, even taunting him.

He shuffled where he stood: “Someone has to keep watch.”

It was just an excuse and they both knew it. Her eyes quickly swept along the shore: “Don’t think it is any different to what you have seen on Nar Shaddaa, but I can use those bushes as cover, if you feel more comfortable that way.”

He just grunted in response as she made over to the indicated bush. Putting down the bag and her rifle she started to undress. Only for a second she pondered to leave on the undergarment, but she didn’t have another set with her.

She walked in until the turquoise waves she had created playing along her hips before she sank into it and relished she sensation of simply floating. The warmth of the water was a bliss and she closed her eyes.

-*-*-*-

When they were left on the shuttle a relaxed quietness settled between them. She had shown him on a map where she intended to land and take the bike from there. Several times he caught her looking at him and whenever he returned the look beneath his visor a quick smile was all he got before she turned her head away again.

He gnawed at his lower lip, trying to imagine what she and his sister might have been talking about. His musings where interrupted when they found the dark entrance in the wall of rock. Though it was not wide, it was rather tall, placed in a reclining notch it was not easy to detect at all.

The tunnel itself was a sight to behold, though completely dark and damp the glittering walls when their lights ghosted over them were entrancing. But the further they ventured the less hope he had that this was a place to locate the tribe.

The warmth of the depth put a sheen of sweat on his skin and he felt a droplet run down his spine. But maybe it also came from the knowledge that they wandered through the innards of an old volcano. He was just glad when he saw the sunlight at the end of the tunnel, too much reminded him of the sewer system on Nevarro and he had hoped that his tribe didn’t have to hide underneath again.

Suddenly he crashed into her, his hands shot out and wrapped round the woman in front of him. He felt and heard their plates connect, but only his hold kept her from tumbling forward. He wanted to excuse, but the sight he beheld had him stunned. He gaped at the beauty that had formed unperturbed over centuries.

Only when she wriggled in his hold he realized that he still pressed her to his chest. With a silent exhale he let her go and only watched as she ventured to the water. His eyes were still swivelling around, trying to take in as much as possible when she addressed him.

How much time they had wasn’t a question he could answer, it was her who had planned the exploration. While he followed her call towards the lake his mind mulled over what she meant with enjoying the place, but as soon as his fingers felt the warmth of the water he understood.

His movement had lost all its fluency when he turned. Did she really intend to have a swim, just like that, what would she do with the wet clothes, had she another set in her bag. A thousand questions jumped through his brain, all at once.

He didn’t want to, but couldn’t help thinking of the impossible picture forming in his head. He had seen her, had undressed her, but all in a state of emergency, not by her choice. And now she was thinking of undressing to go for a swim – his head swam, too.

Yes, sure he had seen her stripped to her undergarments and even less, remembering what her body had felt like even when the washing cloth was between her skins made him tense up. It was true that he had seen the women in the private area of the Star Cluster Casino. But thinking of her undressing before his eyes made a heat spread in him that challenged the heat of the tunnel they had just crossed. It even reduced a midday out in the desert of Tattooine to nothingness.

A rustle in the foliage of the bush and soft splashes of the water as she waded in. Just for a second his head drifted to the side, his head swung back at once as he saw the paleness of her flesh walk deeper into the soft waves. He swallowed hard, thinking about the curves he was able to glimpse sent a wave of heat directly into his groin. Add anther two suns to Tattooine, still not comparable.

He heard her moan and turned abruptly around – _was she hurt, where did the threat come from_ – he realized his mistake too late. It was not a sound of pain, but of pleasure. His Adam’s apple bobbed up, froze, and then down and his legs took a remote-controlled step and another. The turquoise water played at the front of his boots.

But that was not what he saw. He only saw her, partly submerged in the water: Her head was tilted back and her eyes were closed. Her arms were spread to the side and the liquid lapped at the soft curves of her breasts, areolas tight and nipples hardened to small nob.

His mouth was dry, no swallowing helped as his eyes wandered along her form to where the tiny waves lapped at her stomach and to where a dark triangle of short coarse hair led to where her legs met.

With an audible sound of his teeth clicking he closed his gaping mouth. His suit and gambeson had got all too warm, his armour all too heavy and tight in places he didn’t want to think of. He tore his gaze off and whirled around.

“You could just sit near where water is still shallow, so there would be no need for you to swim and your helmet could stay on safely.”

He only dimly heard her voice over the white noise and constant drumming in his ears. It was an option and the heat that spread from his shoulders all over his body, slowly drenching him in sweat, would finally subside. He looked down his front, fully aware what he would see without the protective piece of metal over his crotch, which had become painfully tight.

She must have mistaken the sinking movement of his helmet. He heard a soft splashing and then her voice again, sounding victorious: “Convincing you wasn’t that hard this time.”

“Can’t.” His voice sounded like a croaking frog.

There came a giggle, much closer than before. He dared a side-glance. She had turned over, that had been the soft disturbance of the water. The round firmness of her backside was too much, he stared at a point straight ahead of him.

“What if you get in from the other side of this little piece of water. Over there, near that waterfall, there is more shrubbery for your modesty.”

He grinned in a sour way. She was relentless, but then his resistance wasn’t that strong from the beginning: “Fine!”

He more or less stormed off, setting a vigorous pace, just anything to get out of her line of sight. Yet even secluded by the bushes he felt like she was watching every movement as he shed off the pieces of armour.

What normally came off of the metallic protecting first, was the last he unclasped, giving himself time to find at least some of his composure again. He struggled out of the gambeson, the suit and his briefs while he kept his back towards the lake.

Not that it helped that much. Still in a state of half rigidness he quickly splashed into the water, barely noticing that the waterfall was not a source of warmth, quite to the contrary. It was the only source that brought freshness. And as close as he was to the gushing water he sank into relatively cool water.

But it was a relieve to his state. Even from that afar he could see her intense gaze. He was glad that his helmet saved him from the disgrace of his totally blushed face. He felt bared, but inwardly he hoped that she approved of what she had seen, even the slightest hope sent a shiver down his spine and set him on fire again.

He slipped further into the shallow water until he was still able to sit while the water reached his shoulders. It was none too soon, she was coming closer with slow strokes. Too plainly he saw her form beneath the crystal clear water and sudden awareness made him look down and instantly cover up himself.

Didn’t she realize that he was still able to see everything in waters that clear – it was too late to flee from the water and get dressed again. Her eyes were unfaltering on his helmet as she finally reached his position and folded her legs under her, kneeling next to where he sat.

“The water is much colder here.” It was a simple statement but a drop of his eyes put the perking proof of her words in his sight. He lifted his helmet more than necessary.

“It’s the waterfall. Feels refreshing.” He would find any excuse to not venture to the warmer area of the lake.

She stared at his visor so penetratingly that the feeling of exposure almost got unbearable to him. It took her a long time of just watching him that he started to shift under her gaze.

“Be honest. What is wrong?” He sat even straighter – _was she really that unaware of what she did to him._

He was just going to assume that he had been watched: “You saw what you did – do to me. It-it was – is obvious enough.”

He watched her closely as she lowered her glance to where she could see his hands covering himself. It made his breath shaky. His mind raced and somersaulted in what it could mean that her inhale came sharp and that her lips had parted slightly.

He ran his tongue over his lips, his mouth felt too dry as the blood in his system couldn’t decide which end to race to first. Not true, it definitely had decided to run down south.

“Can’t – can’t form a clear thought. I – my body reacts on – on its own will. You make me want you. You make me want to touch you. You make me want to hold you and never let you go. T’is all I can think of.”

His voice had become more husky and wantonly. He couldn’t care anymore with as close as she was sitting next to him. His mind had only one thought he revolved around, what her skin under his bare hands would feel like.

He couldn’t help it and his helmet lowered as his eyes raked over her body, how the water round her chest moved with her breathing, how the coldness of the water had the pinkish nobs perking out, how her waistline curved in, how rounded her hips were and down to where her hands rested on her thighs accentuating only too plainly the darker patch between them.

 _Stupid_ – he scolded himself. As if he didn’t already know what looking at her did to him, the result he could feel hard against his palms.

When he lifted his helmet again he noted the blush that coloured her cheeks: “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, but … you asked. And … and you are … beautiful … to behold … _mesh’la_.”

She slowly shook her head. Although a smile played on her lips her eyes looked at him in an almost pained expression. Her gaze fell on her knees, but he had seen the glistening.

He shuffled closer until his hips brushed against her knees and lifted one hand to cup her face. With his thumb he brushed the salty droplet that rolled down her cheek away. His voice was a soft whisper: “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you sad.”

If being able to breathe meant that she was sad he would gladly forsake every single breath. He ignored the stab in his chest her despair gave him: “ _Ner meshurok_. Please, no tears. I do not know what I said or did, but I will make amends. Just tell me how.”

His fingers gave the slightest hint of a nudge where they curled round her head, inviting her to lean against his shoulder. It took a moment and he quickly reflected on what else he could do. But then she leant forward, burying her face in the hollow of his shoulder.

Her voice was muffled and sounded drained: “I just realized … so intense … your feelings … love … can’t lose it … not again …broke me.”

His hand ran along the length of her wet hair over and over again. If she closed herself to him out of this reason he would be on the losing side. Nothing would make her open to his feelings for her. The prospect intensified the stab in his innards.

What could he possibly answer – that they were hunter and prey, that _shereshoy_ was the Mandalorian lifestyle, that he would try to stay alive for her at all costs – any of these and much more had probably been already said by Denx too and yet he was marching far away.

“I understand.” He had cleared his throat intentionally yet his voice still broke in a way that made his mouth curl with the sour taste it left. He didn’t want to sound pathetic, but her words and her brokenness churned his own feelings. He had to close his eyes, squeeze them tight to get rid of the burning sting.

He stirred when he felt her hand on his shoulder her deep inhale had him concentrate on her alone.

“Give me a reason to become alive again.” It was just a whisper, hoarse and raw, but never had anything in his life felt more reviving.

Before he knew what he was doing both hands cupped her face, titling her face up to look at his visor. When he was sure that he had her attention he brushed a hand lightly down the front of her face and his smile was radiant when she understood.

Slowly he reached under his helmet, his heart was thumping hard as he searched her face. Even though he kept her waiting she sat still without even the slightest flicker of her wet lashes.

When he had lifted the Beskar far enough to still cover everything from this nose upwards he leant in. He could feel the warm air of her exhale on his lips and he was sure she could feel his: “May I kiss you?”

“Please.” It was a permission and a request.

The first touch was pure electricity, a touch feather-light, a brush soft as down, but it had him breathless. He pulled back to gaze at her. She was still as a statue and suddenly her body shuddered with her deep inhale.

Before he could retreat fully her hand slip from his shoulder to his neck and he felt the same nudge he had used with her, the mere suggestion of an invitation: “Please.” It was a request and a longing.

Again he brushed his lips on hers, still soft, yet with a lingering passion. He dared to let his tongue skim over her lips and was electrified when her tongue tip mapped out his lips. Their first deep kiss was slow, they were hesitant and careful in their exploring, but when they broke apart they were both catching their breaths.

Determinedly he shove the helmet back on, the sound of his breath became modulated and static in his ears once again. He rested it against her forehead and cupped her face in his hands again: “ _Ner meshurok_. I can’t make promises, but I would love to love you forever, hoping that our forever turns out to be very long, until we march away from old age.”

Her giggle was still shaky: “And what about a warrior’s death?”

He snorted: “Aging is a hard fight.”

But he sobered quickly again: “A kiss is probably by lengths not enough. I’m an awkward idiot when it comes to … errm … matters of the heart. Promise me something …”

The corners of her mouth twitched for a second, but he was able to transfer how serious he was about what he was asking and she nodded, slowly, once.

“Promise me that you will help me out there. Promise me that you will let me know what I can do to … make you become alive again. Promise me that ….”

He stilled when her finger came to lie on the vertical line of his T-visor where his mouth was hidden beneath.

“I promise.” When she rested her head back in the hollow of his shoulder his hands moved to rest on her back, just below her shoulder blades.

He savoured the time they stayed like that. It helped him to relax knowing that she wasn’t giving up on them and that she was willing to help him with his shortcomings. The only problem was with his worries lifted like that his all too human mind started ramblings of his own again.

As soon as he felt his hands savouring the contact too much he cleared his throat: “Maybe we should get out of the lake before we start looking like dried blumfruits.”

Her giggling turned saucy: “Do you really feel like you are in any danger of that?”

He didn’t have to look and the surface was splashing as his hand short straight down: “Then we better get out before I don’t fit into that part of my armour anymore.”

His defiance made her giggle more and it was contagious. She was gasping for breath before she finally calmed down: “Ok, but only if you promise that we come back here and maybe we don’t have to tell the others about our discovery.”

The grin he flashed had a feral tint at the hidden promise that he read into it and his remark became more lewd than he had intended: “Our love cave?”

Her gasp was cut short by the hum she spread onto his shoulder: “Promise.”

Before she withdrew she pressed her lips against his pulse and she had it accelerate within a beat. And he was more than glad that she turned to swim back where here clothing was lying on the ground. It gave him time to make his way back behind the bush without becoming totally embarrassed.

When he was back in the safety behind the bush he struggled to get the layers of fabric back up over his wet skin. He cursed loudly and colourfully at how it got stuck, at how tight it felt in places and in the end he gave up trying to rearrange his codpiece until his mind stopped playing havoc with his body. He just stuffed it into his pack, placing this to cover his indisposition was much easier.

-*-*-*-

The water was just too relaxing and she wanted to share. As she wasn’t sure whether the helmet or the inability to swim came from his reluctancy she gave him options with which both problems could be covered.

It took her only one glance to recognise the rigidness of his posture and when comment on his inability in general made her giggle she gave him a way to overcome even this problem. Convincing him wasn’t a problem at all.

With all his struggles to keep his composure she had been made only more curious and of course she watched him from when strode off to when he splashed into the water to sit stiff as a poker. Only then she drew closer.

The water got colder with every stroke and she wondered if the shivers that seemed to run along his body were only caused by that. She tried to keep her mouth still and her face expressionless at the swivelling of his helmet, he didn’t feel comfortable at all.

Her eyes had taken in the position in which he sat, mostly how he used his hands to cover his crotch. She wanted him to be honest, she wanted to know and understand him. But she wasn’t prepared for his sudden boldness. Of course she could see his bodily reaction, but that wasn’t what she had really meant.

The confession that followed had her even less prepared. All of a sudden she felt the emotions wash over her and her heart started a heavy rhythm when she imagined by the movement of the helmet where his eyes wandered over her form.

It was no question if he did like what he saw, the tense jerk was all she needed for confirmation. But his verbal praise had her composure shattered. The tenderness of his touch and words didn’t help at all.

For the first time she felt like she didn’t have to hold back, but she could be what she actually was – broken and fearful of reliving anything similar. It was his broken voice that made her understand that she had to overcome the darkness to have the light spread again – _There is no light without the dark._

Suddenly she understood why her father had accused her of having lost the way of the Mandalorian creed – death is life. She had experienced the first, it was part of life, to come back to life was what she had forsaken. The man sitting opposite her gave her that chance. He could be the reason to become alive again.

The touch his hand against her forehead had her tingling and when is brushed down she got his intention. The his of the helmet opening had her listen breathlessly and her senses were overridden when she felt his breath against her lips.

She wanted it more than anything else. And her brain whispered to her that she could have had this much earlier. No not much earlier, there had been no one with the aura this man emanated. He stirred her like only Denx had been able to and there was something more, something uniquely him that captured her. The warm coil within her told her that she needed more of this to become whole again.

It was definitely the first time that a man was able to make her laugh, cry, feel desired and aroused at the same time. His sincerity rivalled his eagerness, his modesty competed with his arousal. But his truthfulness conquered all.

They life didn’t allow promises, she had learnt the hard way, those promises that could be made had her look forward to what was to come with tightening sensation deep within her. The lewdness that he suddenly let shine through gave the discovery a whole new aspect and had her shudder.

-*-*-*-

In the end all three teams had explored three caves each with two that held an actual promise to be able to house the tribe. Luckily the entrances of these two were located were not far apart and their layout indicated that they could easily be joined.

As one of these caves had been explored by the heavy infantry and the healer and the other by the maroon couple different aspects of their usability had been taken into consideration. It was agreed that these two should be explored the next day once again and that then plans for the relocation of the tribe should be put into action.

The excitement only slowly subsided until a peaceful quietness settled over the ship with each person present slipping into sleep and their dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mesh’la: beautiful  
> Ner meshurok: my precious (one) lit. my gemstone  
> Shereshoy: lust for life and much more - uniquely Mandalorian word, meaning the enjoyment of each day and the determination to seek and grab every possible experience, as well as surviving to see the next day - hanging onto life and relishing it.


	31. White is solidity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hunt, a hurt, a hit -- sorry it got lengthy, got carried away 
> 
> feel free to tell me what you think
> 
> Trigger warning! wounds, blood, PTSD (esp. at the end)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist  
> 1) (Hunt) les friction - your world will fail https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sl4JKK4ObaE&list=RD2X00Hej_iFk&index=14  
> 2) (Boetay) Pandora journey 2WEI - Pushing On https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ouh4Dhk8g8&list=RD2X00Hej_iFk&index=13  
> 3) (trip to and on the ship) El Invitado Invisible II https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hT7oR3b_KaA&list=RD2X00Hej_iFk&index=34  
> 4) (Thar's room) Dzivia - Pamierlyja Božyšča (Dead Deities)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=44pIUQNEk64

She waited until everyone had retreated for the night, then she slipped out. She walked over to the fallen trunk, she just couldn’t bear to stay in her quarters. When she had opened her locker to get a fresh set of clothing the green helmet had stared at her. She felt its accusation and she felt guilty rising in her.

She needed the fresh air to sort her thoughts and feelings. The guilt of having survived where the others hadn’t, she had failed them. The loss of those people she had loved dearly and trusted with her life, she had failed them utterly.

More than once the thought what Denx would have done, how he would have reacted in her place crossed her mind. Would he have gone on, just as she was about to do. Was she disappointing him, betraying or deceiving him by allowing the spark of life to be re-ignited? Even worse thoughts tormented her and made her fear the next day. Had she been to rash in raising a hope in the Nevarro warrior?

She had fallen asleep and woke only because she was shivering from the cold nightly breeze. Tired and worn out she made back to her quarters and without switching on the light or undressing she let herself fall onto the mattress.

-*-*-*-

Ever since they had come back the evening before he had watched her closely, trying to see any differences. Somehow he thought it funny that he was left behind to watch over and entertain the younglings while the two couples were sent to do the exploring of the caves. With an impish grin he wondered if the used their private time.

Well, the three couples. In his opinion only a few nudges were needed to finally make her open up to the man he esteemed worthy of his daughter. And maybe he had already used the time to his advantage.

He had seen two sides of the warrior, one as a valued member of the tribe. Quick and certain in his decisions, reliable and honest, a good fighter who held true to the Creed. The other was a side the Nevarro warrior had only displayed when it came to interpersonal relations between him and his daughter.

He understood that the younger man’s experiences were limited and his insecurities derived from a fear of hurting her and destroying thus his chances. If he had more practice things would be easier for both of them.

But he relished the spectacle when the brave behaved like a cat on hot bricks. He might not know what he was doing but he was relentless in his tries. As a father he wished that he could know what had happened between them the day before. But both were very silent about it and he would not pressure her about it. He would see the results unfold in due time.

Before the others set off back to the caves other tasks had to be taken care of. Between seven adults and a dozen children, who were especially ravenous, the fresh meat had been depleted in no time. So new plans were made. A group should continue the exploring, another go hunting.

The Nevarro couples would take the shuttle to the caves. His daughter had been furious and protective over her toy and the confrontation that enfolded due to his suggestion between and the _al’verde_ and her could only be stopped short of bloodshed.

Her threats what she would do to him if only the slightest scratch or dent could be found had been quite explicit, they burnt even in his own ears.

He didn’t know if the huge warrior took her actually serious, but he better did or he would be up for a painful surprise. Only once he had fought in the sparring ring to let her get off steam. He had to treat a profound limping and a sprained wrist afterwards. It had taught him to let some time pass first before they sparred for such an occasion.

She only let the shuttle leave after she had given thorough instructions to all four warriors. And the way she watched it take off, he just had to leave and go back to the younglings to not break out in hysterical laughter.

Before she and Tharam could leave he made sure that they were equipped well enough. Although it had been his idea something itched at the back of his mind. The weapons were well maintained and reliable and they had plenty with them. Both were experienced hunters and would watch their six.

He still didn’t like her plans to bring a piece of their spoils to the settlers with another warrior in tow, they could react unkindly to it and neither did he like the idea of hunting in the forest just because it was closer to the settlement, not after what the maroon couple had told them.

-*-*-*-

First he had been too agitated to find sleep, but as it had been an eventful day his body finally decided to give him the rest he needed. When he woke in the morning, he was one of the first to be up.

He repacked his bag for another exploration, this time the caves the others of the tribe had explored the day before should inspected closer. Although it sounded adventurous he would have liked to spend more private time with her and without the other tribe members.

When he listened to the changed plans he grinned. He was to spend more time with her alone and they could go hunting. Finally he could follow his purpose as provider for the tribe again. He picked his weapons carefully and made sure that they were working properly.

When he stepped out of the ship something had caused a commotion. She was at least two heads smaller but unmistakably confronting Paz. Neither of the two stepped back and his sister was busy reasoning with both. He didn’t know who he should actually worry about, but considering weight and height he decided it was her he worried for.

He tried to reach the two brawlers in time, but he had been too far away. When he reached them, he heard both snarl a ‘ _Fine’_. He was just glad that their argument had been settled verbally.

Dargak had vanished in the ship, he had thought it strange, until he saw the Zabrak’s face. The man had a hard time to keep his composure and the way his shoulders shook when he entered the ship left room for only one explanation. He was laughing, hard.

But when the Zabrak came back he held one of the finest rifles he had ever seen in his hands. He stared in disbelief as he was handed the weapon, a modified DH-447 sniper rifle. Immediately he saw the adjustments that had been made. The supercollimator was much sleeker, the butt had been prolonged. It sat easily in the crook of his shoulder, the distance of the scope was as if made for him alone.

The voice the Zabrak used to tell him to be careful when going to the settlers was so low that it was meant only for his ears. He would be new to them, and he might stir the fear in them that a male Mandalorian warrior might pose a greater threat.

Soon enough they had reached their hunting ground. The whole time she had been more than quiet, but he referred it to the troubles of the morning. Only when he brushed against her and she turned completely rigid his mind started working. Was she regretting what had happened in the crater, did she repent the words she had said?

When they entered the forest it took him every effort to focus on the task ahead. His gaze constantly flickered towards her, trying to discern what was going on that he almost missed the first tracks of a potential prey.

A herd of cloven hoofed animals had taken the small but well used path and he guessed that it was leading towards a source of water or food. He pointed it out to her and they followed the trails. Finally they neared a small clearing with a meadow. Several antlered animals were grazing there. A huge stag stood sentry over his hinds.

They used signs to point out which animals they were going to shoot. He knelt and picked his target. He had to be quick for the second shot. The first animal was further off, anticipating that the herd would flee away from them he had chosen it for that reason. His other try would be directed to a yearling standing much closer.

He used the scope for his first short and was amazed at its accuracy. His first shot was clean, he just knew by the way the animal staggered and fell. He immediately swivelled the rifle to level it on the second target.

It had been four shots, but only three could be heard to a trained ear. An untrained might have guessed that it had been only two shots. He was pleased with the outcome and nodded at her. It was a curt nod that he got back.

This time they had been prepared to dress the carcasses properly. With that much weight, they would leave what wasn’t needed, so deboning was the task that would have them preoccupied for the next hour at least.

It had got warm, even under the greenery of the forest. For convenience they had dragged all three bodies of the animals under a tree with a wide crown. But it didn’t help, he was drenched in sweat. A look at her told him that she didn’t fare better.

So far not a single word had passed between them and the silence became irksome. He watched her wrapping and storing away the first parts of meat they intended to take with them. In his mind he played through several approaches and possible retorts until he finally decided to not beat about the bush.

“You have been silent. What’s wrong. Did I…” He didn’t get as far as he had hoped.

“Nothing. All fine.” She sounded so strained, even the modulator couldn’t take the edge of the wild emotions that were flooding her.

“You don’t sound like it. See, if you don’t talk to …” He had to make her talk to him.

“It’s nothing you did. You are fine. I’m the one wrong.” She even radiated the impatience he heard.

“Nothing’s wrong with you.” Maybe making her feel better would somehow make her talk.

“What would you know!” She threw the knife with which she had been working blade first into the ground where is stuck quivering.

“If you don’t tell me I will never know.” He was calm, he had to stay calm for the both of them.

“And what am I to tell you? That living and enjoying it like it did yesterday feels like I’m betraying them? That talking to you like I did yesterday feels like I’m cheating on him?” She only paused for a second, eyed the knife, stepped over the exposed ribcage of the animal and took a wide step towards him.

“What would you like to hear? That I tried to never think about it the past decade? That since I set foot on Nevarro I have been confronted with the renewed pain?” Her voice had increased in volume until she was shouting at him.

“Would you really like to hear that I blame you for what is happening?” She had pushed him a step back, he allowed it.

“Would you really like to hear that I can’t stop thinking about him?” Push, he took another step back.

“Would you get to know in detail how I compare you to him?” Push, a step back.

“Would you want to know that his helmet stared accusingly at me last night?” Push, a step back. He struck the hard bark.

Her hands shot up to push him again, he had nowhere to go and caught her wrists, stilled for a moment and then placed her palms on his cuirass, on the place she had repeatedly pushed against. When her visor stared at him he slowly moved his hands to cover the dents of her helmet where her cheeks lay hidden.

“Would like to hear all and more.” He could hear her gasp and her hard breathing.

“Maybe what happened yesterday was too quick, you should give yourself more time.” He lowered his helmet and let it rest against hers, forehead against forehead.

“Let us get done with this work and bring the meat to the farmers and then we can go back to the ship.” Wordlessly she turned and picked up her knife.

They would have to make a second trip, he had tried, but those bags were too heavy, even for him. He wondered how she shouldered hers along. They stopped several times, giving her time to rest and readjust her package.

He helped her heave both onto the speeder bike before he returned to grab the third bag intended for the Sundaris. He also intended to get the antlers of the young buck they had shot, maybe he would have time to do something with them.

His mind was too much preoccupied with what she had said, with his answer and her complete silence again. She had shot the questions at him. One more agitated than the other. Each more and more stabbing.

Had he not been that distracted he would have seen the lean creature cowering behind the piled carcasses. Had he paid more attention he would have noticed the ripples in the broad striped fur as the Boetay prepared for a leap.

It was the loudly growled bark, the rattling of the bones as the heap of ribcages became undone and the following yelping howl that had him swirl around and activate his flamethrower. He didn’t get far, the jaws filled with sharp teeth closed round his arm.

The metal screeched as a set of fangs grinded against his vambrace. The other set of fangs sank into his flesh. His left fist landed on the nose of the predator. It howled in pain and reeled back. Then its hind leg gave in.

He was clasping his arm. Steadying it to hold his blaster, steadying his aim and looked at the whimpering animal. Its snarling snout was red from where it had fed on the carcass, a few droplets of its blood ran from its nose where he had hit it and it mixed with his own blood on its fangs. Under the brown fur with its black stripes the ribs could be seen, hipbones and shoulder blades were easy to make out.

Then he saw the old festering wound on its flank. Carefully he took a step back and watched the crouching Boetay, its pointy ears were pressed flat against its head. As it was now, it looked smaller than when it had sprung at him. The fur looked ragged and at the same time fleecy.

During the late hours, while he couldn’t sleep, he had read about the planet that was supposed to become the constant home of the tribe. From what he had read he guessed that this Boetay was not a fully grown specimen, more or less a youngling. And its malnourished state had come from its wound and probably also spoke of little hunting skill.

He kept the animal in his focus while he bent to get a fistful of the innards that they had discarded and tentatively threw them at the animal’s feet. The growl was ferocious, but then it sniffed at the pieces of food. It snapped at the gift and wolfed it down, its rather short tail wagged once, twice.

A quick look had him locate the next handful which he threw at the animal. He went on until there was nothing left anymore: “Sorry mate, the rest you have to get from the bones.” He was careful and slow in his movements as he shouldered the last heavy bag.

Keeping the animal in sight he slowly retreated backwards. When he neared the rim of the clearing the animal limped back to the left over bones, they had only taken some for the marrow. The Zabrak had explicitly asked for some bones before explaining their usage in cooking.

He had holstered his gun on the way through the trees and heaved the pack onto the bike. When it was tied securely they set off towards the farmhouses. As he was sitting behind her back she couldn’t see it when he looked at his arm.

He felt the blood seeping beneath his vambrace, drenching his sleeves down to his glove. It made an squelching noise when he tried to form a fist. He would give it a thorough look when back at the ship. If it could be helped he preferred not to ask the healer for help.

He reached in a pocket of his utility belt and fingered out a piece of cord. It took him all the way to the Sundaris to have it finally secured. Of course it was still too loose, but wrapping it several times round his arm beneath his elbow was he only help he had at hand right now.

The setting sun was blinding him, but closing his eyes made him dizzy. He was relieved when he saw the rural buildings. She had slowed down giving the occupants time to see who was coming and stopped in an appropriate distance.

They came towards them, as predicted, as cautious as the first time, but finally they seemed to recognize the bike and its owner. They had seen her already once, but him they eyed with suspicion. He nodded at the two men and let her do the talking.

“Thought I pay another neighbourly visit. We’ve been hunting and wanted to ask if you want a share.” She was so much more easy-going in the presence of the farmers.

“That is very kind of you. We could indeed use the meat. Is there anything we could give you back.” She kept quiet, obviously she hadn’t thought about it.

He used the intern com to whisper to her: “Flour or corn, milk.”

When she suggested his very idea to the men they were quick to agree and invited them to come closer to the farm and its buildings. He had to wait until the wished products were fetched. It took them too long for his liking.

He felt his arm pulsating, his fingers had gone numb. And still there was this soggy feeling under the vambrace and in his glove. He sat back onto the bike while they were waiting and closed his eyes. He didn’t get dizzy anymore, instead it had a lulling effect.

Just before his helmet sank on his cuirass he heard somebody addressing him: “You are also a Mandalorian?”

A young man stood in front of him. Slightly nervous, but also curious. He gave him a slow nod.

“Your armour has a different colour, does that mean you are from a different family?”

He was very curious, had probably never seen anything else but their farm. He nodded again.

“You have also a lot of weapons. Do Mandalorians always have that many weapons.” He could just nod again, he mused.

But he didn’t want to be seen as rude, neighbourly contacts would be important for them, so he answered: “Weapons are part of our religion.”

“Aren’t religions to be peaceful?”

He sighed: “We are Mandalorians, warriors.”

He was glad that she finally came back with the older man who instantly ushered the young one away: “Stop pestering him, you’ve got work to do."

The bag with the flour almost slipped from his grasp, the wrapped up end which he had held with his right took on a reddish colour and he quickly tucked it away with his left. He let go of a deep inhale when they were finally on their way to the ship.

He placed his right on his thigh as he held onto the bike with his left only. The throb had turned into a pounding. When his head sank it clanked against her helmet.

“What?” Her reaction was tense.

“Tired.” It wasn’t a lie, he felt like his eyelids were made of Beskar or something even heavier. He could barely keep them open. The landscape passed too fast, it was blurry to his eyes, it made him feel woozy again. At least they had the setting sun in their back. But the constant burn on his backplate heated him up.

When she came to a stop next to the open ram their helmets clanked together, again. It took him two tries before he finally got his leg over the side of the bike and he still had to steady himself.

He stumbled against her father who had come to help them. The Zabrak used both hands on his upper arms to keep him upright.

“Sorry, dizzy.” He concentrated on his sole aim – _reach your room._

He stumbled on, up the ramp, into the ship, up into and past the common area. Helmets turned to him, followed his way. Each step seemed to take all strength he had left in him. He had to punch in the code with his left, couldn’t lift his right anymore.

With a weak gasp he heard the door close. Just a few step more, towards the bed. Just a few ….. He groaned as he felt his legs falter under him. The pain as his arm hit the floor, trapped under his body, was the last thing he really registered.

-*-*-*-

They had brought back meat and the requested bones, and even more. He was astonished that they had their first deal after such a short time. He took one of the heavier bags with the meat while she grabbed the skin filled with milk.

The second time he hoisted the other bag with the meat she shouldered the flour. They were putting it in the storage. Her voice drew him from his mental ramblings what could be prepared with the fresh supplies.

“Dargak. _Buir_!” It had an uncertainty and urgency in it.

He turned and saw what she was looking at. The securing knot at the top of the flour bag was discoloured, dark red. Together they went back, their eyes swiping the floor.

He saw it first, small splatters of red on the floor. A line coming from the ramp and leading into the ship beyond the common room. She was off in a sprint and he was quick to follow.

She stood at the door, motionless, staring down. More red spots had gathered in front of his door.

“Tharam? Are you ok? Can I come in?”

There was no answer. He tried again: “I will only open an inch to make sure you heard me.”

Still no reaction. He tried to open the door but it didn’t budge. He pressed against it with more force, he only gained an inch. But it was enough to see the green-blue armour lying squarely in front of the door.

“ _Al’verde_!” He was quick to call for help with a booming voice that could easily be heard even down in the hull.

Th heavy infantry perked up, took in the situation, understood its gravity and more or less jumped over the back of the lounge area without jostling the others sitting around him. With a few wide steps he stood next to the Zabrak.

“He’s not reacting, is blocking the door, need to shove him to get it open.” He knew his explanation was actually useless as the broad man threw his shoulders against the door immediately. They managed, with their combined powers, the prone man moved under the pressure the door exerted on him.

The more they pushed and the wider the door moved the body the longer the red smear on the floor became. He heard Walking Wall curse as the big man was finally able to squeeze through.

-*-*-*-

The Zabrak’s voice had his attention at once. There was something in his voice that contradicted the reverent title he called him with. It was commanding. It reminded of the way the Armourer got his attention.

Something was off, he had known since he had watched Tharam hurry past towards his quarters. Though he had been in a rush, there had been something odd in the way he held himself, something odd in his steps.

Something blocked the door and there was only one explanation as their bounty hunter was alone in his quarters. He saw the green-blue helmet, visor down, his gloved hand next to it. All too close to the door, they needed to force it open.

Where ever his hand had been it left a blood trail on the floor and he hoped it only came from their hunting. His hand shot up and adjusted the audio system of his helmet while he pushed on. He could hear him, his breathing was irregular, he groaned as he was moved, he was in pain. So the blood was not from some animal, but his, he was hurt.

The more his body moved the better he could see the crimson trail. His jaws were set, a wound on his upper body he feared by the layout of body and trail, somewhere on his side. It was quite a lot of blood, were his inner organs involved – he hoped not. Could also be a major vessel – he hoped they were still in time.

As soon as he fit through the widened gap he bent to turn his _vod_ around. There seemed to be blood all over his right side, but when he patted along the parts not covered by metal protectors he couldn’t find anything. When he saw the imprint the soaked glove had left and the cord wrapped just beneath the elbow he knew where he would have to search.

He unclasped the gauntlet and noted the new scratches and that the flamethrower had been activated recently. He made things quick and used his vibroknife to cut the sleeve open. Two deep punctures leaked constantly the precious liquid.

The idea with tying the arm off had been perceptive, but not well performed. He readjusted and tightened the string. After he had ripped off his glove he pressed his hand onto the wounds: “Get the healer.”

He hadn’t finished his sentence and the Zabrak was already off. He shook his head as he again heard the booming voice, this time calling for Tulata. When he lifted his head he saw another black armour. Her body was pressed against the doorframe and the red visor stared down at them.

He couldn’t say that she stood unwavering as her whole body was shaking. Odd sounds came from her helmet, her hands were fumbling along the wall. Several times she tried to push herself off from it, her step forward faltered again and again.

“Come here, get the neckscarf off and find his pulse.” His command was harsh, but she showed no reaction.

“Come. Here. Find. His. Pulse.” Even with his commander’s tone she didn’t react.

“NOW! MOVE! PULSE!” All he got was more odd noises, but it didn’t matter, the Zabrak was back and Tulata was storming into the room also. He would deal with her later.

In the commotion the black clad woman was pushed back, against the table. He diverted his attention back to the limp man and the healer, her instructions would be essential now.

It took the healer some time to close the nicked vessel and the punctures. In itself the wounds weren’t that big, but deep. And with them coming from fangs of some foul mouth, keeping away an infection was important.

Together with the Zabrak they heaved the dressed and still unconscious man onto the bed. Then he turned towards the pilot. He had to look twice, she was cowering under the table, hard to make out, dark armour in a dark environment. Her arms folded over her helmet, curled up on herself, rocking and still these odd noises.

He made a stern step into her direction, but a hand on his arm kept him back. It was her father who whispered something and motioned to follow him.

“What is wrong with her?” He was angry, she had failed them and especially Tharam. He had thought that there was something between them, but he might have been wrong.

“I will show you something and she will not get to hear about it. Understood!” There was again this tone he didn’t like about the Zabrak, but it was his daughter and her ship, so he kept quiet and just nodded. He need an explanation for her weird behaviour.

He was led towards her quarters. He stopped at the threshold, it was not right for him to enter without her knowledge, no matter what her father intended to show him.

The Zabrak only glanced shortly at him standing there, then nodded and pointed towards a locker. Whatever it was he was going to see was in there.

In his heart the scars of Nevarro bled again when he saw what was left of once proud Mandalorians. Her father pointed at a formerly green remnant of an armour: “Her _riduur_.” And he started to understand her behaviour and her problems. He could only nod, no words were appropriate or necessary.

“What shall we do about her?” He definitely didn’t know, had never come across such a complicated and emotional situation. And the helpless shrug of the Zabrak told him he didn’t know either.

“Let the women sort it out?” It was the only idea that came to him. Tulata would be more experienced with that and her female intuition would come in handy.

But then he heard her call for him. She needed his help: She was kneeling next to the wrecked pilot. She had tried to coax her out.

He just reached under the table and grabbed the first thing he could get a hold on. It was a struggle to get the writhing form out, but he tugged until he succeeded, pulling the convulsing woman to a stand.

A rough shake would bring her back he thought. As it didn’t, he did the only thing he knew to make her stop her franticness.

-*-*-*-

She was in a dream, a bad dream, a nightmare. The trail of red drops led to his door. She heard her father’s voice as her body started to rock with every forced exhale. She saw the men shove against the door, but what she heard was shots.

Red.

Bolts, blood, slugs tearing and searing, ruined armours, still bodies.

She couldn’t breathe anymore, the wall behind her carved in, gave her no support.

Concordia’s depleted mines, further to the mountains, the canyon, the pyre.

Each hard wallop of her heart made her more and more dizzy, she was racing against a tumbling world.

Dented plates, broken rifles, wrecked tech, destroyed helmets.

Screams hurting her ears, explosions throwing her around, light blinding her.

Myrkr’s forests, further along the brook, the well, the pyre.

Hands tugging, pulling, tearing, restricting.

Scream, she wanted to scream, her throat was tight, strangled, smothered,

Fists grabbing, ripping, shaking, punching …

Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> al’verde: commander  
> buir: parent, father, mother  
> Vod: mate, comrade  
> riduur: wife, husband, partner


	32. White is virtue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rest and unrest, dream and vigil - everything needs a balance in life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist:  
> 1) (Vayra’s room / dream) kamelot - don't you cry https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=crZ3OMS-fBU  
> 2) (hall / Tharam’s room) Tiamat – Kaleidoscope/Do You Dream Of Me?/Planets https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EQfOr-cS0tM

“PAZ! _Osi'kyr_!” She rammed her elbow into the unprotected side of her lover. She had been tending to her brother lying still on the bed when she heard him growling and cursing. The pilot let out a hair-raising screech.

She watched paralyzed as the man, who was so soft to her, manhandled the woman roughly and tore her out from under the table. He shook her and she swore she could hear the teeth of the black armoured woman rattle. What had her utterly horrified was when his fist connected and her helmet pinballed into the wall.

The woman instantly went slack and tumbled down in a heap.

She totally understood how the Zabrak, who stormed in, reacted. The scuffle was short, too easily her tribe member had diverted the attack. That the other warrior’s shoulder connected with the wall was unfortunate, but made him reconsider his next step.

He was hissing in pain when he shouted: “I showed you, so that you would understand! How could you?!”

She was thankful that Paz retreated with a step back where he grumbled: “Now that she is out, she can calm down.”

A very simple and unorthodox strategy, but she had to admit it was very likely successful.

The Zabrak bent over his daughter and tried to lift her contorted body, but she was quick to intervene: “No, wait, your shoulder. You’ve aggravated it already enough.”

She tugged at Paz’s elbow and nudged her helmet towards the two. His answer was a deep sigh that ended in a grunt: “ _Copaani gaan_?”

The Zabrak was still too upset and only let himself get shoved aside with steady force. He snarled: “ _N'jurkad_!”

“ _N'eparavu takisit_. Didn’t know what else to do.” She noted with a satisfied smile that the heavy infantry took the utmost care to gather the unconscious woman in his arms and safely carried her, according to her instructions, over into her room where he laid her down.

“I will see to you both, so just accompany her and see that she is comfortable.” His thanks were sincere, although his tone was discouraging her to say anything else.

She turned back to look at her brother, he had started to move. She would have to ask Paz to help her to unarmour him, so he could get a better rest. She went to the door and beckoned to the tall warrior. He quietly helped her. When they were done she quickly hugged him.

He was holding the scratched gauntlet, turning it over and over again in his hands: “I really didn’t know what else do to.” His bass held an apologising note.

She placed a hand on the indented part of his helmet: “I understand and you might have been right. But understand him, you just knocked his daughter out.”

His shoulders heaved with a deep inhale: “Better me than him.”

“You mean you took that burden onto you? He will hold a grudge against you and if she remembers she will definitely, too.” She had to chuckle: “If she does she will definitely want to see you in the combat ring. And I don’t say that you will have to let her win, but you will see to it that she doesn’t get hurt…” She looked him over. “Well not beyond my ability to heal her afterwards.”

A low snort made it past the vocoder: “Promise.”

-*-*-*-

The more he thought about it the more he had to admit to himself that the heavy infantry probably had had no other choice. He had consoled her when she had allowed her tightened shell to loosen. But even then he had realised that she was still pent up. She still clung to the bare threads holding her together.

This time it had been different, there had been nothing holding her together. He connected her seizure with what had happened to the Nevarro brave. Seeing him like that, lying in his own blood, had had her flashbacks. It was high time for her to put the past behind, or … he didn’t want to think about the consequences.

She was what was left of his family. His brother Tusru, gone in the purge. His wife Sori, gone when they liberated the village from the droid attack.

He looked down at her and remembered the small dirty, blood-stained and hurt bundle. The tiny shivering and crying bundle. The only moving and breathing life left of the village.

On that day he had entered the place of horror three times and left it twice holding a body pressed to his as his jetpack took him out of the devastation. The first time to save the baby girl he would name Vayra and the second time to retrieve the body of the woman he would remember daily as Sori, his _riduur_.

The black armour had been hers. He had it adjusted and presented it to Vayra when she swore the creed. He had been proud to see her wear it. He had never told her about its heritage.

He sat down on the bed , her helmet lolled towards him as the mattress shifted under his weight. Carefully he lifted it off. He bit his lower lip when he saw the cut on her forehead and opened the drawer where he knew a medkit to be.

It was a mechanical task to clean the laceration and cover it with the Bacta salve. On automatic mode he started to unclasp the Beskar. Only the sharp throb in his shoulder reminded him of his surroundings.

Startled he pulled back when the healer addressed him. She wanted to see his shoulder. Dully he started to shed the vambrace and pauldron. He was barely aware that she helped him with his cuirass, gambeson and shirt. His eyes were trimmed on his daughter while he was treated by the healer.

Meanwhile he watched his daughter intently, she was getting more restless. Her legs occasionally kicked out, her hands balled into fists, her jaw muscles tightened and her brow knitted.

When she let go of a whimper the attention of the healer was caught also. She mused: “What is she dreaming of?”

“War … loss … guilt.” His deep inhale didn’t lessen the knot that formed in his stomach pit. He breathed out through his mouth.

“Pain?” Her visor looked down at him. His throat was constricted. He just lifted his fist and placed it over his _Beskaryc Kar'ta_. She was sympathetic when she placed her hand on his good shoulder and he nodded his thanks when she left.

Sitting next to his prone daughter and holding her hand had a calming effect on her, at least to some extent. He felt dead tired. Already ridden of half of his armour he stripped from the rest to stretch out next her.

-*-*-*-

The jungle was dense and humid. She turned around, Onderon was easily to be seen from their camp on Dxun. The campfire’s light dimly lit the surroundings. A week of hunting, which had been their reward for the last successful employment, was coming to an end. They were celebrating with Andoan wine.

She knew it was time to leave. She packed her things. Jurann and Mayh were sitting together, conversing quietly.

She need to know their next destination. She walked over to them. They smiled up at her. They rose and embraced her.

“Where do we go from here?”

They smiled at her. Jurann turned and pointed upwards. Then is outstretched arm moved and came to a halt at another point. Up there where the stars blinked. What lay in these directions? Which planets was he pointing at?

“What are the next coordinates?”

Mayh smiled and hugged her before she joined Jurann. Together they left. The campfire’s light didn’t reach that far.

“Where do we have to go next?” She shouted after them.

This was insufficient. She needed an answer.

She turned around.

The forest was dense and still humid from the rain. In front of her the fire’s flames licked skywards, brightly. She heard the murmuring of a small brook. Denx was standing next to her. He held her hand.

“Where will we go from here?”

His hand lifted. He pointed straight forward.

She heard the voice. His lips didn’t move, he smiled: “It is time to rest.”

“What are our new coordinates?”

He embraced her. “ _Aay'han. Kyr'am cuyir jibr. Sirbur cuun nuna'a._ _Ni o'r gar kar'ta._ _Gar jibr daorida._ ”

“What do you mean?”

He smiled and rested his forehead against hers.

“ _Your_ coordinates.”

He stepped forward. The fire’s light was blinding her.

“Wait! Which coordinates?”

She woke up screaming, but she didn’t wake up alone. For a moment she was disoriented, but he was her anchor. She cradled into the arms of her father. She babbled out what she could remember, making no sense. It didn’t make any sense to her, but she had to let him know, she had to get it off of her.

Again he had been there for her and she realized how much she had missed that in the last years. She felt cramped under his armpit but it added to the feeling of being safe and protected. Still, the feeling of unrest didn’t want to leave her.

She waited until her father had drifted off into sleep again. When she tried to sneak out from his embrace his voice was drowsy: “Where’re you going?”

“ _Sino meni f'lafer_ ” She knew she could put him at ease when she used his mother tongue. Only rarely she used it, only in the most desperate moments, it was their safe words. He had used his own language to soothe her when she was young, they had used it to talk about what no one else should know.

“ _Teela. M’line ailop_ ” Quietly she closed the door behind her. Everyone was in their quarters. The door opposite hers was closed.

She left the ship and walked up to her speeder bike, she knew how to find a position halfway acceptable and stared up into the star flooded sky. Only her lips moved as she said her daily remembrance.

Only too well she remembered her dream, only too well the words on whose meaning she dwelled. She hadn’t heard anything that she didn’t know. He would always be in her heart. It didn’t matter that he was marching far away. Her life was going on, without him – without him she had to set the course, it was her coordinates.

Death would always be part of life, no matter if Mandalorian or not. But honour and strength were a part of it, and she had neither followed earnestly in the last years. Suddenly she felt ashamed. It was neither the way of Manda’lor nor of her family pledge.

She started to whisper it, just to hear it, just to convince herself: “ _Kot’par_.” She picked a star to say her mantra, another and repeated it. There were enough sparkling dots to give her the time to finally believe them and feel them in her heart.

The colours of the sky slowly changed. The darkness gave way to the pinks, oranges and yellows of a new day. Slowly the sun crept over the horizon and made her squint, it was blinding her.

She grew still for a moment as she was reminded of a similar situation on Ossus. Only then she hadn’t been alone, he had been there for her. An urge grew in her to know how he was faring.

She unfolded and went back into the ship. For a few minutes she stood in front of the closed door, by the panel’s lights she knew that it had been locked, she could guess the reason. She just listened, then she started pacing, restlessness kept her heart in a steady sprint. Finally she hunched down next to the door and folded her arms over her knees. Just for a moment she wanted to rest her head on her arms.

-*-*-*-

She kept waiting at her brother’s side. She had intended to join Paz in their compartment, but as soon as she saw the darkened, damp fabric on his chest and felt the heat of his skin, she reconsidered and prepared for a fever-ridden night and a vigil at his sickbed.

Repeatedly she checked on his temperature, it was rising, she had to cool him down. She looked the door to keep their privacy. The helmet’s seal hissed open under her prying fingers. Carefully she slid it off.

As always his dark chocolate brown hair was unruly, even as it was sweat stained and plastered against his skull. She eyed the irregularly cut, long strands and sighed, he must have used a razor again. His face was flushed and his cheeks looked hollow.

She dampened the cloth in the cold water and wiped the sweat off his forehead and brows. Her fingers caressed the beginnings of crowfeet at the corner of his eyes, they came a lot from laughing. But she also detected the glabellar frown line between his eyebrows. She couldn’t remember having seen it the last time she had seen him without helmet.

Neither could she remember the scar starting on the bridge of his nose reaching into the hollow of his left cheek. She ran a caressing finger along it nevertheless. She had always teased him for his slightly upturned nose, with the scar his features did no longer look that boyish, but it fitted his not too angular face, she mused.

She opened his suit and dampened his exposed skin. She didn’t have much more than the cooling by evaporation. It had to be sufficient until the morning. She only left him to get her data pad. She would use the night to learn more about the herbalism of Garos. Maybe she could find the proper plants.

It took most of the night. There were some herbs she could use, not only for her brother, but they would be convenient to have for all sorts of illnesses. She had made a list of plants she wanted to gather. She needed a certain moss, which reminded her of the Sopor moss, Garonian fern and a type of sage that only grew in pine forests to break the fever and work against an infection.

A shudder ran down her back, just the type of forest her brother had come back from wounded. From what she had seen, the span between the canine fangs was large, the predator must have been large.

She wouldn’t go alone, she was sure Paz would accompany her. But that had to wait until the morning. Until then she constantly used the damp cloth to steady his fever. She cursed, why couldn’t it have been simple slugwound, why did it have to be the infectious fangs of a carnivore.

By the morning she was ready to fall asleep standing, but the restless stirrings of Tharam and his sweat drenched form kept her on duty. When he shivered she covered him in blankets, when he got restless and pearls of sweat ran down his temples she cooled him off.

Over an hour ago he had started to thrash around wildly, she could only imagine the nightmare he was suffering. She wondered if he was reliving the attack, or if it was something else. It subsided when she spoke in a hushed voice to him and pressed her hands against his cheek.

At one point he had leant heavily against it, even reached for her wrist and mumbled something in Mando’a she couldn’t get. As it kept him quieter she remained in this position. Even when he lay still for a moment his breath was uneven. Quick and short inhales, heavy and puffed exhales, pauses.

When the bandage became soaked she unwrapped his arm and frowned at the inflammation. She tried to be as careful as possible, but her treatment made him groan in pain. She was applying more Bacta, it helped with the wound, but not with the fever or the blood loss.

Suddenly her wrist was grabbed in an iron grip, her eyes found his. Hazel speckles in green but too glassy, too widened, roaming wildly. He was trying to recollect his whereabouts.

“Shhh, it’s ok, Thar’ika. You will be ok.” He started to focus on her and his grip relaxed until his hand dropped on his stomach. His lids grew heavy again while he watched her bandaging his arm. By the time she was finished his head had lolled to the side, he was no longer awake.

She picked up voices just outside the quarters. The bass was easily identifiable and she smiled widely.

-*-*-*-

He wondered at how quickly he had become used to her company and waking up with his arms wrapped around her. But this morning the space next to him was cold. There was no warm and soft body he could squeeze or cuddle into.

He rolled on is back and crossed his arms behind his neck, soon lost in his thoughts. They had always got along, only the attraction had been hidden, now that it had become a known and constant part of their lives, they shouldn’t lose any more time. He knew that he was willing, but asking her made him somehow nervous. It wasn’t like there was much to prepare, but he still wanted it to be right, to do it right. He didn’t want her to feel pressured.

Right now was not the moment, her mind was focused on her brother, as it should be. And as he knew her she had been up all night caring for him. He had made up his mind, but first things first, he would make her a strong caff, that was what she likely needed most right now.

He got dressed and entered the lounge area. His eyes fell on a crouching heap of black clothing and he froze. Only when he observed that the woman was still, neither words and nor movements, he relaxed.

She was probably asleep. Shortly he wondered what she was doing out there instead of being in bed and resting. He came to the conclusion that she probably also wanted to find out as matters stood. More caff, he decided.

With two steaming cups he stood next to the pilot. Some _vode_ from the covert had said that his caff could wake the dead. Slowly he lowered himself onto a knee, keeping just more than an armlengths distance out of respect and self-protection.

He stretched out his arm and waved the mug close to the lowered head. He had to chuckle, it was too comical. He heard her sniff, several times, like a hound on a hot trail, even as she slowly lifted her head she continued to snuffle.

But then his mirth was over. He saw the patch over her left brow, dried blood still covered that side of her head: “ _Ni ceta_.”

Her eyes roamed up and down his form: “Literally.” With a raised brow she reached out for his peace offering. “Not that I remember much anyway, but thanks.”

He cupped her chin and turned her head more to the light: “You don’t remember?”

“Not much, no. Remember that we stored the provisions, that we saw the blood and found Te-the bounty hunter.” She shook her head out of his hold and took a sip. A quick smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes told him that she liked it.

“It pushed you over the edge. I-I didn’t know what else to do to calm you down. You were beyond reasoning.”

She just hummed. Then the door opened just enough to let the healer slip through. By the way she held herself he knew she hadn’t slept a minute last night, so he offered: “How is he? I could take over.”

The tilt of her helmet told him that she had to be smiling at him: “Thank you. I’m not sure, so far it was good that he was able to breathe freely.”

When she placed her hand on his helmeted cheek the woman sitting in front of him lowered her head and stared into her cup.

“But he has been asking for you.” Tulata wasn’t looking at him anymore, but her red T-visor was lowered at her feet. Only the sitting woman hadn’t seen that she was being addressed.

“Vayra, he’s been asking for you.” The caff sloshed as she jolted to a stand.

He shot her a direct, almost accusing look. He hadn’t been prepared to hear the pilot’s name and then there was this feeling he couldn’t place. Something was changing and he had missed it.

“Vayra?!” He’s been calling for you, in his fever.” The addressed woman remained frozen. He watched as she almost literally pulled herself out of the stupor.

“Is he … How is he … doing?” He had expected her voice to be more shaky, maybe that was why she didn’t raise it above a whisper.

“The fever is still too high for my liking. I’ve read about this planet’s plants. I need some herbs, which can be found in forests …”

“The closest is the one where … I can… “ He could see the gears in her head working. She wanted to go back and find out what had attacked Tharam.

“As much as I appreciate your offer, it is essential that ….” Everybody froze at the noise of a heavy body hitting the metal flooring and its accompanying pained groan.

Tulata slipped back into the room and he waited for her signal to be allowed to enter, too. A quick glance at the woman whose name he had just learnt made him reach out. Despite clutching the cup with both hands, it was shaking dangerously.

When she felt his hand over hers those impossibly green eyes stared up at him. He could see the pain and fear, a wordless plea.

“He’ll be fine.” He tightened the grip on her hands. “Don’t make me knock you out again.”

She huffed a protest, but he was already towing her towards the room, his prompt had come. Busying her was better than letting her wait outside. He took the cup from her and placed it on the table on their way towards Tharam.

How the hunter had been able to roll over and out of the bed was beyond him, but together they heaved him back in. He listened to the accelerated breathing when an idea struck him. He pressed Vayra, who was idly standing next to the bed down to sit on the mattress and pulled Tulata a few steps away.

“Remember what we did in the covert?” Her helmet tilted up at him, she hadn’t picked up on his idea yet.

“You said he needs to breathe freely, without helmet.” His visor pointed upwards as he scanned the ceiling above the bed. “Think we can do that here, too. He can breathe, she can stay.”

Finally she understood and nodded eagerly: “That way I can …”

“No. _We_ can gather your herbs. No way I let you go there alone. Not after …” He nodded towards the prone warrior.

She was quick to accept: “Of course.”

-*-*-*-

The level of pain intensified and pulled him out of the dark heated void which had claimed him. The light blared into his eyes, making them water, making it even more impossible to force his fogged brain to concentrate, to focus.

Only the voice he had known since his childhood made him relax again. The term of endearment, he hadn’t heard it for what seemed a lifetime, only his sister had ever used it, it made him feel safe. It was hard to fight against the calling obscurity, he yielded to it as the pain level turned back to the fiery throbbing and eased even slightly below it.

What pulled him to a more conscious state again was just a whisper. In his head he had heard it often, said it often. Only now it was not his own voice, or the voice of her father. It was his sister’s voice. He was lucid enough to realize the difference. With a rush he realized that they, his sister and the pilot had come to terms enough to share their names. But neither was there with him.

He couldn’t place the compulsion that made him roll over and try to swing his legs off the bed. He was not that coherent, but he very well understood the terms of gravity as he fell off the bed. His curse became an exclamation of agony and with it darkness wanted to claim him again.

The shape which had come to his side had the voice of his sister again. She scolded him, but she was caring, concerned even when she reached behind his neck, lifted his head. The light was better bearable with the green tint of his visor shading his eyes, but he instantly felt deprived of the free access to oxygen. His laboured inhales sounded loud in the confinement of his helmet.

Two more shapes, they helped him back into the bed and then the mattress shifted under the smaller one’s weight. A black shape he wanted to call out to, but his vocoder just crackled as he breathed her name. The pang in his arm didn’t keep him from stretching until at least his fingers made contact with her knee.

She shuffled closer until he was able to place his hand on her thigh. She felt warm under his touch, but still cooler than the heat he radiated. His left arm shifted slightly and his tired smile widened as she reached for his hand lying on his stomach.

He fumbled until he could clutch her fingers between his thumb and index finger, only then he let out a content sigh and closed his eyes. The low voices made it easy to let go of what was going on around him. He was ready to drift again.

The sound of drilling. Metal scraping on metal shook him awake again. The dark blue armour was looming above him, working on something on the ceiling. He stupidly watched behind his green visor and if it hadn’t been for the loud noises he would have fallen asleep again. But thus he slowly recognized the construction and gave the fingers he held a soft pinch.

“Awake?” Her voice was a tender inquiry and made his lips curl up.

His felt his tongue stuck to his gum, everything was dry, he could only hum. But she understood: “Give us a moment, then I can get you some water.”

The prospect of something to drink made him even more thirsty. Her next words were not addressed at him: “There’s an old chute you could use. Its fabric should be mostly intact.”

It was slightly better than an old rug, patchy and torn, but useful enough for its new purpose. When it was in place he had to decide whether to let go of her hand or get off his helmet. His mouth twitched in a nervous smile when she made the decision for him.

She peeled her hand from his and carefully reached up, blindly, separated by the curtain of parachute silk, she had run her hands up his chest to his neck. Her fingers tickled his jaws, just beneath his earlobes as she started to slowly push the helmet off.

He didn’t want the feeling of her fingers trailing his temples upwards to end. So frightening the concept of having his helmet removed might be, having it done by her made it feel special. So special that he hummed in pleasure.

The other person in the room had become just a retreating form until they vanished. Only her outlines behind the silk were more visibly clear. She repositioned, sitting much closer, to help him raise his torso so that he could drink.

He ignored the added throbbing as he rested his arm on her legs. Had he been mobile he could have wrapped it round her hips. As it was it hang weakly over her upper thighs. Although she held the glass he wrapped his fingers round hers, guiding her and he felt the slight tremble of her hand.

He still felt like he could fall asleep instantly, and too warm, and there was still the pounding in his arm, but he smiled gratefully as he sank back into the pillow.

“We’ll come back as soon as possible.” He recognized his sister’s voice. It came from somewhere near the door.

“Tul, where?” He had to clear his throat to bring out just those two words and they were raspy.

“You’ll be safe. Vayra is staying with you. I just get some herbs in the forest.”

“Not safe.”

“You won’t be alone.” He groaned at being misunderstood.

“Boetay ... Hurt ... Young.” Each word as an effort, pressed out more and more brassily between his pants.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be safe. Paz is with me.” He almost missed the quickly sucked in breath and Vayra had become motionless next to him.

“Fed. … … It. … … Needs. … ” It took him three breaths. Each word one, a fourth was not in him.

“You did … why do I not even wonder. We’ll be back in a bit. Just rest.” She rearranged something beyond this curtained confinement, some murmured instructions and the door closed.

“They … “ He tried again, but fell silent when her hands reached beneath the silk and cupped his face.

“Shhh. He and Tulata will do fine. Your _vod_ will make sure she is safe.” He noted that she didn’t use his name, although his sister had dropped it unintentionally. He knew it would be non-existent for her until the heavy infantry decided to tell her himself.

“Just concentrate on healing. Is there anything I can do? Your skin feels too hot.”

“Hmmmm” He just sighed when he felt the damp coolness against his skin. With one hand she traced and explored, the other followed to dampen his face. With one hand she lifted the fabric of his shirt as the other guided the cloth over his chest.

“Stop those moans or you’ll make me think that you enjoy being cared for in your hurt state.” Though she huffed he could hear the playful note.

“I do.” He put even more effort in his next lowly rumbling moan and made her snort in response.

“ _Di’kut_.” He even enjoyed her laughed insult. He remembered when he had last heard it, when she had tended to the wounds she had inflicted, when she had made him pull down his trousers. “Still on.”

Her snort was louder this time, obviously she understood what he was hinting at.

He reached to nestle on his shirt: "Please. Get shirt off. T’is hot.” It was labourous to form words between his pantingm. It drained him and she pushed his hand away with a slow move.

Yet, before she started, she carefully bunched up the lower end of their separation. As if to explain and excuse her action she mumbled: “Need to see what I’m working on.”

He just hummed with a smile, until she helped him to a sitting position. The dizziness drove the smile from his lips. He couldn’t believe that such a simple act cost him so much.

But leaning forward, nestling his head against her shoulder while she pulled the fabric over his shoulders and down his arms had the nice effect that he could be close to her, to take in her scent. It had a capturing, even lulling effect.

He snuffled once, then again and it made her giggle.

“What’s it. – _sniff_ – earth and – _sniff_ – honey.” Concentrating on what he was scenting and getting more of it had a regulating effect on his pants, kept his brain on concentrating on the pain of his wound.

“Mahonia.”

She had started with his good arm. And he felt the gooseflesh spreading when she ran her hand along his skin. She was even more tender and careful with his hurt arm. Again her soft fingers trailed back upwards.

“When …” Her heard her reluctance and when she didn’t continue he hummed encouragingly.

“When you are …feel better …” Her fingers ran along the old scar on his bicep.

“Hmmmm”

“Then … we have to talk…”

“Hmmmm. … ‘Bout …”

“Us.” He caught his breath at the barely audible word. Along with the dizziness his mind short-circuited before it started racing at the implied meaning. Was the falter in her trailing fingers a good or a bad sign?

“Us?” He balled his left into a fist to keep him from trying to wrap his arm around her. Not after what had happened the last time he had got bolder. No the same mistake again, he told himself. She needed the time, _she_ had to be ready, he reminded himself.

“Dreamt. Want to tell you about it.” There was a quiet certainty in her words.

“Hmmmm. Good … or … bad?” He swallowed at the sudden feeling of vertigo. “Wait ... Need to … lay.” He was about to let go and fall back when her arms wrapped around him and guided him back. Her embrace was strong and steadying but still his weight pulled her with him.

“It’s confusing … still … but I think … good.” He managed to put a smile in his wince, hoping she would hear it it or even get a glimpse of it.

“Rest.” Her command failed utterly, turning it into a plea. She sat upright again, keeping one hand on his solar plexus, her finger circling randomly on his chest bone . He felt the coolness of her hand spread, regulating his choppy breathing.

He didn’t remember when he had fallen asleep again. Just that it had been a restful sleep. Her hand was still resting against his chest bone, but she lay nestled between his arm and body, her head resting against his chest.

Soon they would talk, something good she had said and it made him look forward to it with hope. She had felt so much calmer and more determined in the way she had touched him, as if she tried to feel his heart and maybe his soul with her touch. And the way she rested against him radiated more of it.

With every breath she quietly took next to him he became more and more assured that this was meant to be, that they were meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Osi'kyr!; Strong exclamation of surprise or dismay  
> Copaani gaan?: Need a hand?  
> N'jurkad: Don't mess with me  
> N'eparavu takisit: sorry (lit: I eat my insult)  
> Beskaryc Kar'ta: Iron heart, Beskar heart  
> aay'han: bittersweet perfect moment of mourning and joy - *remembering and celebrating*  
> Kyr'am cuyir jibr: Death is life.  
> Sirbur cuun nuna'a. Ni o'r gar kar'ta. Gar jibr daorida.: Say our remembrance, I’m in your heart. Your life continues.  
> Sino meni f'lafer: All is fine (Zabraki)  
> Teela. M’line ailop: Outside. Fresh air (Zabraki)  
> Kot’parj: strength wins  
> vode: comrades, mates  
> Ni ceta: sorry (lit: I kneel) grovelling apology – rare  
> vod: comrade, mate  
> di’kut: idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)


	33. White is soundness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If nothing at hand natural remedies are a last resort, and sometimes it has other surprises at hand. 
> 
> Sorry it got a bit fluffy, but had to give my wounded hunter some comfort. some hints at what Dargak is up to next… more context in the next chapter so you won't shout at me ..unless you prefer it the way it is :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist
> 
> 1) (forest1) Dzivia – Kostki Pad Imchom (Bones under the moss) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qK3eJBTxha0  
> 2) (forest2) After forever . Mother Earth https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=reGlno9aUpw  
> 3) (ship/outside) kamelot - lunar sanctum https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tpW5wXedcRg  
> 4) (Tharam’s room, various POV Dzivia - voryva sleeping fields https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7ptAY-wj_M (Just love this song, listen to it 24/7)

He was prepared for the trip. He would leave the heavy canon on board. He had chosen a smaller laser canon, much handier in a densely grown area. Then his hands had felt a long forgotten piece of wood at the bottom of the weapons container.

Carefully he pulled out the lengthy piece and placed the end with the attached string on the ground. His legs served as leverage as he bent the bow and strung it. He tested its flexibility and had it fully drawn when Tulata entered the room.

Though she was in a haste she stilled for a moment. The twinging sound when he released the string made her jump. He rumbled a laugh and quick to wrap his arms around her.

In a short time she declared to be ready to be taken to the forest. He tried to soothe her worries, reasoning that her brother was in caring hands. Despite her strange behaviour he was sure that she – Vayra, her name still felt strange on his tongue – would tend to Tharam.

He hadn’t asked if he could take the speeder, he just did. There was no faster way to reach the forest and he didn’t regret his decision when Tulata slung her arms round his midriff.

On soft terrain he placed his arm on hers, steering with the other. Her body clung tightly to his back and even with the protective plates in the way he relished the sensation. He marvelled at how natural and anew it felt at the same time.

Her data pad gave off an alarm. They were nearing the forest and the place where they intended to leave the bike. It was not too far off where Tharam and Vayra had stopped the day before. He slowed the bike and stopped it just in front of the first row of trees and bushes.

Tulata immediately went over to an insignificant green bush with strangely thin and yellowish appendages. She scrolled through her pad shortly and then started gathering them.

She was totally concentrated on the different plants that he decided to ready his gun. They way she was focused she would bump into a Bantha and wonder where it had come from.

It took him only a few lengthened strides to place himself in front of her, thus being able to keep an eye on where they ventured. It was a zig-zag course leading her from one tree to the next flower. Constantly checking the flora and her data pad.

When he stopped she walked right into him. She started to excuse but he held up his fist. She silenced instantly. A large tree shaded a wide patch of meadow. It was lush and in bloom. But that hadn’t caught his eyes. It was the remains of three carcasses, notably the ribcages, along with some femurs and other larger bones.

They lay as if discarded, splayed across an area. They all had one thing in common. They had been gnawed upon, some splintered and broken, few still intact.

Even from afar he could make out the imprints of two pairs of boots, a smaller and a larger pair. And those of paws.

He changed the HUD vision, the imprints glowing in red back at him. His helmet moved as he looked around, deciding on where they had come from and where they led to. Then he saw it. Both pairs of tracks leading into and out of the meadow, the larger pair had used the path twice.

His eyes narrowed as they followed the track to where they met up with the paws. Carefully looking around he drew closer to the place. The tracks told him much, they had been ruined where too many told of the confrontation had taken place.

The – he tried to recall what Tharam had called it – the Boetay had advanced from the opposite side, hidden behind the carcasses, sprung, that was where most disturbance on the ground was, then lain flat. Then the imprints of the paws followed the footprints.

His head quickly turned towards the small path, the barrel of his gun was trimmed in front of him, he would be ready.

He had just taken a few steps when he saw it. It came out of the undergrowth. The head lowered sniffing along the tracks he was following. When it walked he noticed that it limped. His eyes searched for the reason.

It must have smelled him as its head came up sharply and his trigger-finger twitched. He aimed carefully. Inhale – exhale – Tulata’s hand was on the barrel, pushing it down. He tilted his head questioningly at her. But she just nodded towards the animal. A whine came from it.

It was dog-like, yet huge, its head easily reaching his chest. It was skinny beneath the brown black striped fur.

“It’s hurt.” Her voice was a whisper via their com-system. “That’s why he fed it.”

“He fed that thing?” He sighed tiredly, of course he would.

This just looked so much like Tharam. He had seen the man fight fearlessly, he had watched him kill, ruthlessly even. But he had also watched him buying food and distribute among street kids and stray animals.

“That’s what he said.” From the corner of his eyes he saw her scrolling through her pad. “Boetay, carnivore, hunted or tamed, used as mounts by the natives of Garos.”

“Mounts? For what? Jawas?” He snorted.

“This one is not fully grown.” She dug into the bag slung across her back and pulled out a scanner. “From its bone structure not even a cycle old.”

“A foundling?” He sighed exaggeratedly and watched the animal hobbling back to the bones. “Don’t tell me we have to take it in.”

She giggled and he imagined that she pulled a mischievous face under her helmet.

But he was distracted again: “What’s that on its neck?”

“Abrasions, they have a strange form though.” She showed him the display on the scanner.

“Chain.” The rounded and interlinked scars let no room for any other conclusion. When it turned its head he could even make out where the fur was not re-growing in the exact pattern.

“What? You mean it was chained?”

He slowly nodded. “Whoever had it might have wanted to train it as a mount.”

“But then why is it here and why is it hurt?” She lifted her scanner again.

He waited for her answer to her own question, but she gave up with a shrug. The data was too indifferent.

“The bones are the reason why it attacked Tharam.” He pointed out their layout as he explained. “Has been on his tracks several times, back and forth. I bet they lead up to where they had the speeder parked.”

“Like it is waiting for him to return and feed it again?” He heard the pondering in her voice. Then she looked up at him with an expectant nudge of her helmet.

He frowned for a second, then sighed. “Ok, I’ll see what I can get. But you will keep the gun ready. Hurt or not, if it attacks you will shoot and kill it.” She quickly nodded and he rolled his eyes.

He used all the available and useful systems of his HUD to find something he could hunt and bring back. He didn’t like the idea of her staying alone with the hungry animal at all. When he scared off some fowl he was quick to take them down with his blaster.

But they wouldn’t be enough for an animal that large. He needed something bigger, he had to go deeper into the forest, where light was sparse and a constant semi-darkness protected those who feared the larger predators.

Then he heard the grunts and high pitched squeals – his prey. He had to be quick, by the sounds they were moving. Yet it didn’t take him too long to catch up and get off a shot. He simply dragged it along as he hurried back.

He tried to occupy his mind with something else than worrying about Tulata and the Boetay. Musing over the perfectness of the hunting ground to use his bow again made perfect distraction.

When he was finally able to see her on the meadow he stopped in his tracks. What else could he do but sigh and roll his eyes – it was running in the family.

She was using a large rock to smash the bones which were still intact and threw them towards the waiting Boetay. But it also painted a smug grin on his face, at least he knew what he had to be prepared for.

He reached her just as she opened the last marrow filled bone. “This will feed it better.” He used his vibroknife to separate a large chunk of meat which he threw towards the animal.

First it shrunk back with a growl, but the hunger was stronger and it crouched forward, snapping at the offered meat and dragging it back. He heard it whine and saw it wag while he prepared more pieces of meat for it.

He grumbled good-naturedly: “Setting the table for the prime predator of this planet.” But his laugh died off as he watched the slim figure crawl haltingly forward again.

He pulled Tulata behind him as he backed off. “Have you got all the herbs?”

At her affirmation he made her hurry ahead of him. He was still walking backwards, watching the animal tear junks out of their offering. Just as he was about to disappear behind the green of the forest it lifted its head to watch him. He heard the whine.

When he had brought trees and bushes between himself and the animal, he started to jog all the way through the forest. Tulata was already waiting at the speeder when he jumped on it and brought it to life. He didn’t see what she saw when she turned to look back – a brown black striped creature reaching the forest’s edge.

-*-*-*-

He stretched lazily and fully until his brain kicked in. There was no one else in the room, he was alone. It took him a moment to recall that she had slipped out in the late hours of the night.

He got up and donned his armour. As he saw no one in the common area yet, he guessed that he was one of the first who was up. Somehow it seemed to have become his task to prepare the meals for the whole group. At least most of the time.

But this time he wasn’t alone for a long time. When he turned with his hands full of plates he came face to face, well more face to hip with the brave little boy with the large green eyes.

“Good morning, you are up early. Where is the rest?”

The little boy just shrugged: “Not tired anymore.”

“I see and,” he lowered himself to come to an eye to eye level, “let me guess, hungry.”

The boy just nodded with a very serious expression.

“Now, boy, how about you help me a bit with setting the table, then I can busy myself with preparing your – our breakfast?”

“Yes, _verd_.”He was eager and stretched his hands out to receive the plates.

“Call me Dargak. Can you tell me your name?” He knew that the adults were reserved and didn’t know how it had imprinted on the young ones.

“Liom.” The boy had become a little shy and he tried to make him feel easier with a bright smile and a joyful flash of his eyes.

After that Dargak had just to point him to the things needed next. Only when the shelf was unreachable for the boy’s height he gave him a hand. He was so quick that Dargak taught him the essentials of how to make porridge.

Soon they were able to sit at the table and they had only taken a few spoons of their breakfast when the other children accompanied by the Rulls, strolled in. Within moments the common area was thriving with life and laughter.

He sighed contently. The scenery around him so domestic that no one would have been able to tell that it had ever been differently. There were adults and younglings ranging from one to twelve cycles, that was his rough guess – a large family.

He kept the smile plastered on his face as he tried to image their losses. Even if they were able to settle on Garos constantly and safely they would have to increase their numbers. Maybe some of their covert had made it out alive and were searching for them.

He needed to talk to their _al’verde_ about trying to contact others. With the ship and some trips they could set Dadita beacons, hidden in they hyper-com as bursts of static. He would have to get some material for the beacons and for that they would need credits. He knew who to contact for they jobs that would earn them the credits.

The boy, Liom he reminded himself, was watching him intently and a tiny frown scrunched up his forehead. He made his jaw unclench, deliberately relaxing his facial muscles so that the mask of a smile became a real one again.

They were making plans of what to do today. It was difficult as no one wanted to overstep their rank and the heavy infantry was nowhere in sight. Of course they could train the older ones again, but he wanted to include everyone who was able to run around, so he suggested a few rounds of _Meshgeroya_.

Everybody was filing out of the common area, excitedly discussing about the teams they wanted to play in. He turned towards the closed quarter’s door. She was either in there with Tharam or she was already outside. The locked status of the door told him to not go and investigate.

When he followed the others outside and saw the speeder missing he seemed to have his answer. The more astonished he was when he saw it coming back with the bulky dull blue armour steering it. His head swivelled back to the ship.

He waited until the speeder stopped in front of him. The healer was immediately off and rushed into the ship. Now would be the perfect time to talk to the man and to present his proposal.

“More hunting?” He nodded at the blaster and the bow strung onto the heavy man’s back.

“Mostly herbs. She needs them for him.” The large man was not really conversational yet informative enough.

“Herbs are good. Might be a good idea to get a large variety, they serve many purposes.”

“Hmm yeah. Saw what hurt our hunter. Boetay. He was lucky, it’s not grown. Got an old wound handicapping it.”

He whistled appreciatingly, the hunter had really been lucky, he could have lost his arm. “So how is he doing?”

“Dunno, been out since morning. Then he had been awake for a while. She made Va … your daughter stay with him. We got herbs for the fever.”

“We are used to hear our names said among us,” he was carefully watching the _al’verde_ , “ among _aliit_.”

There was a certain stiffness in the way the blue pauldrons rolled back. There was a grave silence that hung between them.

He tried to sound calming as he specified: “We might be not of a family, clan or even a tribe. We are, though, all Mandalorians. With so few left of us and spread so thin we should be ready to overcome what is separating us and embrace what is uniting us.”

He gave the man time to object. When he didn’t, he continued: “There is a way to help you finding others within the calling reach of hyper-com. Maybe there are others of your covert, maybe there are others with the same fate. My offer is to set up Dadita beacons on a wider range of planets.”

“Too dangerous. The Imps.” The decline was brisk.

“Wait. Hear me out. I can jam the signal. Only us would recognize it as a signal. Everybody else would think it static.” He hadn’t wanted to go there, to recall the time that had taken away so much from him just to give something else for it. “When … when we were separated … the rest of us found … the survivors were able … to reassemble with its help … we were able to reorganize and relocate.”

The blue helmet tilted at him, he seemed to have picked up what he had indicated.

“Talk about it, you and your tribe members. My offer stands.” He nodded towards the man’s shoulder: “Any good with that bow?”

He smirked at the grunt. “Could use some practice myself, maybe your older _ade_ too.”

-*-*-*-

She hurried into the med bay and started the preparations for the salve, then she hurried to the kitchen area to heat water for the tea. Her next halt was his room, she knocked but there was no response. She knocked again louder. Then grunted in indignation, she had forgotten that she had the code to open it.

Quickly she slid in and stopped with a smile spreading widely. Just the bunched up silken curtain separated her brother’s tilted head from the shock of dark copper hair that nestled against his shoulder. He was lying on his back, she lay snuggled against his side, her hand firmly pressed on his chest.

If matters hadn’t been so pressing she would have retreated, leaving them to their privacy and peace. Only neither was really that peaceful she noted as she drew closer.

Her face was crunched up in a frown and her fingers were twitching, clawing weakly, not leaving marks, she noted with relief.

His chest was covered in sweat, his breathing was slow and heavy. She moved to the head of the bed and slipped beneath the veil. He was smiling softly in his sleep, but pearls of sweat covered his face.

She got the cloth wet with cold water and carefully touched his cheek. He stirred before his eyes slowly opened, they fell on the head on his shoulder and his smile widened. His head leant in more to …– his eyes wandered towards her, he had realized that he wasn’t alone and a deep blush replaced the smile.

She pursed her lips before a wide toothy grin tore at the corners of her face, she had recognized what he was about to do. With a loving gesture she wiped the sweat of his brows. She knew that her eyes had started to glisten, so she quickly bent to his ear to whisper: “I’ve got the herbs. For tea and salve. Be right back.”

She was already straightening when her gaze fell onto the woman next to him. She nodded at her, then she shrugged her shoulders. He had to decide his further steps. With a quick ruffle through his hair she left to continue her preparations.

Her hands worked feverishly to finish the treatments. The tea was finished first, she had tried it and decided that he would hate it. But it couldn’t be helped.

-*-*-*-

The next thing after drifting into sleep again was a cool sensation on his face. The dark cooper hair was still in his line of sight, just like when he had woken the other time. She hadn’t left his side.

He bent closer to smell her hair, to place a kiss onto – _wait, cool sensation, what, who_ – he felt the heat leap up his neck and into his face. His sister, almost witness to a tenderness not even she had yet seen, was grinning from one ear to the other.

He felt his increased heartrate and was very thankful that she did not comment at all. When she mentioned at the woman in his arm he was not sure what she actually meant nor what to do. At first he didn’t want to disturb her, but then he felt her fingers move restlessly on his chest.

He gathered her hand in his and although the veil cut him off he left a kiss on the back of her hand. She stirred softly.

“ _Ner meshurok_ , they’ve come back.”

She blinked several times, had to place herself first, just as him, then she lifted her head. He cupped her face. The hair along her temple was not soft as he remembered, it was coarse and covered in dark flakes. With a slight tremble in his fingers he reached for the patch on her forehead.

“What … happened?” He was confused the last time, he remembered, she hadn’t been hurt.

She snorted humorously: “Walked into walls.”

“Wall- _S_?!” He was dubious, but had no energy to investigate further and she didn’t say anymore.

“Tulata will be back soon. She’s got herbs. Do you … do you want to …?”

Despite his nervousness he noted that she looked at him without really looking at him. Her eyes were focusing somewhere on his trachea.

“If you want to … I would like you … to stay.”

The slight nod and her whispered agreement made him smile. It widened in blissful enjoyment when she reached for the cloth and continued where his sister had left tending to him.

She had his torso dampened and was just rubbing down his left arm when the door opened again and his sister came back in.

“Both awake now, good. Vayra, you have to get that tea into him.” Tulata was giving him an apologizing look and he made a face in anticipation of what to expect her herbal tea to taste like.

“I’ll be back with the salve.” Tulata was quick to retreat after she had handed Vayra the mug. She helped him to a sitting position and he sniffed at the steaming content before he tried it.

“Yuck!” He tried to shove her hand with the mug away.

“Oh come on. It can’t be that bad.” She sniffed and he challenged her to try for herself. She did and almost managed to keep a straight face. “Can’t be helped. You have to drink it – all.”

He tried to haggle: “Half.”

She was relentless: “All.” Only for a second her eyes lifted to were his were obscured by the silken curtain. “Thought you want to heal as fast as possible to hear what I have to say.”

He watched a sly grin creep into her face, a mischievous sparkle of her eyes as he was only able to gawk with his mouth half open. Lost for a reply he just nodded and pulled the mug closer again.

He would have gulped it down in one gulp if it hadn’t been that hot. Thus he was forced to sip and no, the taste did not improve at all. He was almost done, when Tulata came back.

Together the women took care of his arm. They had removed the bandages and he was able to take a first look at the damage, the wounds and the inflammation. He decided that he had been lucky, half of the damage had been absorbed by his gauntlet.

The salve was applied carefully, still his muscles flinched. Maybe it was because he was sitting up, or maybe it was the tea, but the ship started spinning. He felt a salty tang creep up his throat. If the ship didn’t, he had at least to try to keep still. He felt nauseous and sank back into the pillow. With his eyes closed he didnt have to see the alarmed looks the women cast at him.

He was dimly aware that they shared the work of bandaging his arm and cooling his skin. He could only guess whose hands deftly tended to his arm and whose fingers guided the cool cloth over his skin. But when a softly trembling hand was pressed against the end of his heaving chest bone he knew whose it was. Just before he drifted off into sleep again he placed his hand above hers. A plea to stay with with him. A soft spread of these cool fingers, his wish would be granted.

-*-*-*-

She woke up as she had fallen asleep, yet she needed a moment to recollect herself. The soft baritone, clear without any modulation of the helmet’s scrambler, and it didn’t matter whether it was Basic or Mando’a, it ran with a velvety quality under her skin.

That his touch was feathery soft added to the sensation, only his uneasy inquiry about her patched up head robbed something from the whole situation. But he was so quick to make up for it and it was hard for her to keep her eyes from roaming the silken partition and trying to pierce it by simply staring.

But bunched up as the silk was she saw the skin on his chest glistening and intuitively started dipping the cloth into the bowl with water. She hadn’t completely finished when the healer came back with a mug.

She could image what a herbal tea intended to lower a fever must taste like. But she would have never imagined that a grown man could make such a face of disgust. She wanted to humour him by tasting the brew herself, but having her taste buds tortured by the bitterness she understood him completely. Yet, somehow she had to make him drink it and there was only one way, bribing.

She wondered if she was going too far, pressuring herself to a commitment she might not be ready with yet. But somehow it felt right, somehow everything seemed to fall in place just as she heard her words leave her mouth.

At least it had the wished effect and even though he made faces beyond any description he complied. He looked so relieved when he had emptied that mug that she couldn't bring herself to tell him that he wouldn’t be done with a single mug of the tea.

With his sister guiding her they tended to his arm. Silently she still wondered how he could have been surprised by the animal attacking him. She could understand that he didn’t want to hurt anyone or anything innocent, a bystander. But hadn’t the Boetay crossed that line already.

Then it struck her as she reran the events of the day. Maybe if she hadn’t been that unapproachable, things would have turned out differently. She bit the inside of her lip until a metallic taste mingled with her salvia.

The heavy thumping of her heart jolted when she felt him go laxer by the second they treated to him, when he sank back onto the mattress with a mumble. Her eyes were quick to roam the form of the healer for any sign of assurance. Time trickled past until the red helmet nodded gravely.

The only thing she knew that would keep her heart from racing was to feel his slow and deep breathing. Feeling his chest rise under her hand was the pole she could clutch onto in the storm that was raging within her.

Whenever she felt the motion falter or change in its rhythm she would wipe the damp cloth over his chest, it pulled her out of her lethargy, of the growing drowsiness.

When he woke once later he was so thirsty that he downed the rest of the tea without complaint, even asked for more. The carafe Tulata had brought had long gone cold, but it didn’t matter, the brew would do its job nevertheless. But it was a struggle to help him up, to keep him upright, to keep him from simply falling back.

When she sat again, her hand once again rested on his chest. It was heaving so laboriously, she started to fear that each one could be his last. She didn’t know if her fear was rational or not. It was just overwhelming her. She felt her throat tightening, saw her vision swimming with her fears spiking.

She didn’t know what made him move his hand until she looked down and saw the wet spots sprinkling the back of his hand and fingers. His thumb rubbed over his index finger, smearing one wet stain.

Secure behind the silk she knew he was awake again when she heard his voice: “Don’t … I’ll stay.” His whisper tore her eyes to his face.

There was a long silence before he breathed his next words: “Please … lie … with me.”

And again some piece fell into place when she stretched out along his side, mindful of his arm, and rested her head against his shoulder. Soon his breathing became more even and when he turned his head to her she could feel his exhales fanning across her scalp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> verd: warrior, soldier  
> al’verde: commander  
> meshgeroya: limmie or bolo-ball - literally the *beautiful game,* a Mandalorian obsession  
> aliit: family, clan  
> ade: children  
> Ner meshurok: my precious (one) lit. my gemstone


	34. White can be a (new) beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginnings are needed to overcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry (not) that it got that long and I fear I still do not meet all the expectations of the heading, but no worries, what you might be missing will come soon  
> songlist
> 
> 1) (beginning) Osi And The Jupiter - Draugadóttinn https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rqp5y9_1iYI 2) (Thar and Vay) Dzivia - Śvitańnie & Dom (The Dawn & Home) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g0_XMNAFV7Q  
> 3) (Boetay) Satie - gnossienne No. 1 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oOTpQpoHHaw  
> 4) (Paz/Tulata-crater) Satie - Gymnopédie No. 1 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2WfaotSK3mI or/and Chopin-nocturnes (pick any) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-gDinVAmtA0

It took three days of cooling his hot skin, three days of re-dressing his bandage, three days of either bargaining with him to drink the bitter herbal tea or watching him gulping it down and three days of forcing him to get something nutritious into his system.

It took her three days of quelling panicking thoughts when the fever seemed to gain the upper hand, three days of his whispered assurances in clearheaded moments.

It took three days where mostly only the healer set an eye on them, three days of wondering, fearing and hoping on behalf of the rest of the tribe members.

It took three days before the fever finally broke and everyone heaved a sigh of relief when Tulata broke the news to the others.

The younglings stared in fearful disbelief when Tharam finally emerged, with shaky legs, supported by Vayra. First he only made it into the lounge area, but he was over the worst. Everyone was bustling around him, asking him if he needed anything until he growled. Days later, when he widened his range of activity to sit outside, the younglings were hovering over him until he gnarled.

He was more or less fleeing them after he had realized that the adults were constantly eyeing him, passing too often to inquire about his needs. There were close to no exceptions, everyone had their special way to go about it.

Tulata kept it on the medical aspect. Using her scanner, checking on his temperature and concentrating on the healing of the wound.

Bril Rull really tested his patience. He would stroll up to him with crude jokes or bawdy comments.

Fina Rull was tolerable. She had taken up to chatter about the everyday things and the younglings.

Dargak Kryban used him to test his culinary skills and he definitely did not complain about that.

Vayra was constantly keeping at his side. A quiet shadow that busied herself and let him participate in the little tasks of tending and mending. Her quietness was what made him put up with the antics of the others.

Even Paz had made it a habit to pace his periphery, though he mostly kept quiet, conversing only with prompting nudges of his helmet. But there was something about him that had Tharam watch him closely in return.

Finally he had enough, he used the exact moment when the huge warrior was scrutinizing him to make a show of rising where sat and wandering to the fallen trunk. An unwritten law had turned this place into exclusively his and Vayra’s, where everyone left them alone.

When he heard the steps behind him slow down he stopped. Just with a motion of his head he beckoned his _al’verde_ to follow him.

He waited until the other man had also sat down on the trunk. “You want to talk.” He didn’t have to ask, it had been too obvious for him.

“Yes, there is something. Two things, actually.” The heavy infantry sat hunched over, with his legs sprawled wide, his elbows resting on his knees, his visor pointing straight forward. A picture of calm confidence, maybe even indifference.

It was not often that the huge man wanted to hear his opinion, but there hadn’t been the need often anyways. When he heard about the idea of the beacons and how Paz listed up the advantages and disadvantages, he genuinely knew what the man troubled about.

He was solely responsible for what remained of their tribe: Before it had been the Armourer’s task to decide. Tharam could not relieve him of it, but he could state his opinion and he clearly saw the advantages.

No one would listen to static and be wiser. There was the risk that even their own people might miss it, but then it had been at least a try. And, a hope that slowly built up in him: It could mean that he would get to travel a bit more. Due to his time of convalescence he had been grounded and he was getting restless, missing his days as a hunter.

“What’s the other thing?” He was watching with rising suspicion as the calm demeanour of the larger man seemed to become indistinct. The leather of his gloves started to creak as he wrung his hands, interlaced his fingers, formed fists.

“You are a clan of two?” It was a weird approach to what he suspected was to come, but he let the older man take his path and just nodded.

“You intend it to make it a clan of three?” That was a turn he hadn’t thought his leader would take.

“What? Yes, I .. she …no ... we need time. She hasn’t … we haven’t talked yet. Wouldn’t mind joining her clan either.” He realized that it didn’t matter to him at all, as long as she wanted him to be a part of her life.

“What if … what are your sister’s intentions if … when she …” Now the big man was getting closer to the point. He smirked knowingly beneath his helmet.

“Why don’t you just ask her?” A vertebra cracked in the heavy infantry’s neck at the sudden movement of his head. The dark blue helmet with its dented cheek parts spun towards him.

He couldn’t keep his chuckle silent: “I’m not totally stupid or blind. I can put two and two together and in my calculation it makes four. Literally even. Though the maths on my side will take longer.”

He had ended with a sigh and was almost struck when the older man patted his knee. “There has been some progress already, so be patient.”

After a short silence his leader continued: “So, you don’t mind my … intentions?”

The joy he felt seeped into his words: “Not the least. Though you make me lose my bet.”

He snorted at how Paz spluttered: “Your bet?! Who?!”

He was careful when he revealed what the whole covert had been secretly doing: “Uh-huh. Actually everyone. Bets were on Tulata to ask you first. Three to one even.”

His follow-up diversion was tactical: “Have you planned anything yet? About where or how? With our situation you could give it more consideration than just in which part of the sewer you’re going to ask her.”

“I … what? Ermm … actually, no I haven’t.” The gloves’ creaking increased.

He hadn’t planned to make it more difficult for Paz, so it was a spontaneous decision when he asked: “Do you mind Vayra to know? I would have to talk to her in order to help you out. If you wish so, that is.”

“No, don’t mind.” He heard the low rumble of a chuckle: “After all, it will stay in the family … if – when it works out as you … as we all hope.”

It was his time to be astonished about being a topic among the tribe members. He quickly cleared his throat before he asked Paz to send Vayra to him. As he watched the man leave he regretted his decision, he felt reluctant to give up their cove, but it was not his decision alone.

He watched as the tall warrior approached her. Her head started to move between the man talking to her and him waiting for her. He waited until she had taken place next to him.

Quietly he started to explain about his sister and Paz when she interrupted him: “It’s ok to tell him about our discovery. It will be a nice place for them. And if they want to say their vows in private then this is the most perfect place.”

Same as Paz she was looking anywhere but at him and he watched her for a long moment: “Are you sure?” He slipped his hand under her chin to guide her head towards him. When she finally also lifted her gaze to look at his visor he repeated: “Are you sure? What about … us?” Asking, voicing a simple word - us - made his breath stutter.

There was a sudden shyness in her eyes which she hid quickly under her lashes. She inhaled deeply and a fine red coloured her cheeks: “As long as they don’t occupy it constantly.”

He grazed his thumb lightly over her lower lip, the ghost of a promise to her slowly parting lips: “We don’t have to tell them. We can keep it to ourselves.”

She looked quizzingly at him, then her blush turned fiercely red. He smiled and whispered “Guilty,” and once again he wished the barrier between them away.

He offered his hand, palm up, fingers spread wide. Her hand fitted perfectly as she slipped her fingers between his. He curled his long fingers and gave her an encouraging squeeze. His visor never left her eyes as he slowly brought their hands up to rest his forehead against the back of her hand. It was a motion of only a few inches as he moved them to where his mouth lay hidden under the vertical line of his blue visor.

He pulled back when he saw a telling glittering in her eyes. She blinked several times, but she held his gaze: “But then … I mean doesn’t your sister deserve it to be special, memorable. Without …”

Her voice dropped, but she continued: “Without her … you might have … di-not made it … and I ...”

He reached up and tucked the strand that had escaped her braid behind her ear: “That’s why I would like to share this special place. We could take them there and … like … leave them to it.”

It had been days since he had started strolling around. Days he had been idle while the others had been busy. Days in which he had been recovering and gaining back his strength. Days in which his brain had been busy while his body was recuperating. Days in which he had envisioned how he could help his sister and Paz to find their happiness and he hoped she would agree to his suggestion.

She titled her head and gnawed on her lower lip until a smile brightened her face: “What are the chances that he …”

“… one hundred percent.”

“And that they …”

“… ninety percent. We just need to plan it.”

They both wore a conspiratorial smile when they had come to terms.

-*-*-*-

He eyed them, more and more he became uncertain. At first it was sweet to watch their tenderness. But something changed as they quietly talked and when both stepped up to him and asked him to be at the shuttle in three hours he was sure they were up to something.

He helped Tharam to place the speeder in the hull of the shuttle. The younger warrior exerted a tensed expectation so that he couldn't take it anymore and it made him burst out: “What!?”

“We provide you with the location and opportunity.” The hunter was audible grinning at him, grinning even widely, he imagined.

He wanted to slap the comically tilted green-blue helmet. “You what!?” He felt that his stubborn ignorance added to the glee that emanated from Tharam.

“Are you only going to ask her or are finally making my sister an _honourable_ woman.” The teasing jest was loud in Tharam's voice. He balled his fists, he just knew that Tharam was wiggling his brows at him. Just as he had done as a youngling, before he had sworn the Creed, when he had come up with insinuations so typical for him.

Slowly he admitted the knowledge and excitement to spread and spill over. A warm knot in his throat made him swallow slowly. The man he was closest to among the warriors of the tribe and who he would soon be even closer to by family bonds was preparing his _riduurok_ for him. And he realized that he was not alone, Vayra had her share in it, too.

“What do I have to do?” He was just able to rumble under his breath in the rising thrill that made him pace up and down along the shuttle.

“Huh? Don’t tell me you ...” The green-blue helmet shook in a shudder that ran along his shoulders. He could decipher the emotion that lay beneath.

“ _Di’kut_. Not _that_. I’m fully aware of _that_. … More. Than. You.” – _You are not the only one who can make others feel at unease_ – With satisfaction he noted that not only Tharam’s shoulders had become stiff, his whole posture had become statue-like. And he couldn’t resist another verbal hit below the belt when he added with the most saccharine voice he could muster: “Please, _do not hesitate_ to ask [...](https://www.dict.cc/englisch-deutsch/....html)”.

The younger man was audibly gawking, and gasping for air. The strangest sounds came cranking through his vocoder. He was choking and coughing and completely inarticulate. A self-satisfied grin made his cheeks hurt until he couldn't hold it anymore. He bent over as his loud laughter shook his whole body.

Only after he had sobered up he was able to continue: “Do I have to prepare anything?”

“No.” Tharam was still choking and his voice was a pitiful croak.

-*-*-*-

She quickly found Fina and filled her in, as vaguely as possible. Together they went to inform Dargak who was already busy in the kitchen area. But only after they had successfully diverted the attention of the small boy Liom, who seemed to be glued to her father, with a task to fetch something.

But they needed more helping hands. Fina was sent to get her husband and the older younglings to assist with the preparations, too. Only the youngest were kept out of the way so they couldn’t spill the news.

She had calculated a close time frame and was sprinting to her shuttle. Both Nevarro warriors were eyeing her suspiciously when she billowed hidden beneath her dark cloak past them. But she only indulged the smaller one with a few whispered words before she set off.

Ariana, the capital city of Garos was within reach with the little time she had at hand. While she manoeuvred her shuttle she studied the plans, descriptions and advertisements of the holonet. She didn’t want to waste her time with searching for the stores she wanted to visit.

The city was impressive, but she had no time to admire its architecture, parks or any of the advertised attractions. She had picked a handful of vendors. She hurried from the port through the streets. She felt naked as only the fabric of a tight black shirt with matching trousers were hidden beneath her dark cloak. With her hood pulled deeply into her face she made her way into the first shop.

The looks she got while she awaited her turn were mostly curious. When the young man turned to her she smiled, strategy one would work just fine. Effectively she threw back the hood and let the cloak fall past her shoulders into the crook of her elbows. Her smile was radiant as she bashfully looked at him through her lashes.

When the handsome man’s mouth opened and kept hanging open she knew that the iridescent smoky-eye make-up was doing its job. Her dark red lips pushed into a pout, she used the most husky voice she was capable of to ask for the desired object.

She went even further when she bent over the counter to ask after Kyrprax in a low voice. The poor follow’s eyes sunk into her cleavage. That the fourth button sprung open, revealing even more had not been her intention, but it enhanced the desired effect. And even more so when she asked to have it wrapped as a present.

As soon as the credits and purchased goods changed owners she veiled herself into the cloak again. In the streets she nestled the buttons close again as her steps guided her to the next vendor. She used the secrecy of a dark alley to fish her helmet out of the bag that hang from her shoulder beneath the cloak.

She entered the dark room and looked around. The owner, an old gnarled Twi’lek just nodded and pointed at a variety on display: “Something for a lady to feel safe?”

She had set the vocoder lower to distort her voice even more to ask for what she had laid her eyes upon. The Twi’ was harder to bargain with, but in the end he even added the modified glowrod when she also asked him for both the power cells and the plasma cartridges.

She took the shortest way back to the port, her time was running short. When she set down the shuttle next to the ship father was already waiting with the container they had prepared. Carefully she added the two wrapped packages. A smaller compact one and a longer one, barely fitting into the container. Then she removed her helmet and she flashed him a bright smile.

Now only Tulata and Paz had to be summoned. Paz was easily found, he was instructing the younglings. To extract the healer from her latest tries at the gathered herbs proved more difficult. But she lured her with the prospect of more and a greater variety of herbs, which wasn’t exactly a lie. She had seen some plants known for their remedy aspect.

With the three members of the tribe on board she set off. This time she landed the shuttle below the plateau and following the navigation system had her find the entrance soon enough.

“Everything in there is yours. You might require one or the other thing. Here’s a com, we’ll be back at the landing point.” The lean warrior had sneaked his hand on her shoulder, watching her six in his own way. They waited until both their victims had disappeared in the tunnel.

When she turned to return to her shuttle he tugged at her cloak: “I’ve got a request. I want to go back to the hunting ground.”

She couldn’t have heard correctly: “What?” The emotions that invaded her were wrangling – anger and panic.

“The hunting ground, I want to go back and see after …” She hated how convinced he sounded.

“No.” Anger was winning.

“We won’t get surprised this time. We know what to expect. I want to..”

“NO.” Panic was winning. She added more quietly: “Besides it’s been days. It has probably moved on.”

“I don’t think so. We could bring it something. It didn’t attack me again when …”

She gave him a look which made him stop. “I will give you a fly-over, that’s all.” Under no circumstances she wanted them to face this threat again, especially as he was not fully healed yet.

She was relieved when he consented with a nod. All the way towards the shuttle and on the trip to the forest with the meadow she kept quiet. She noted how his visor took in the scenery below, he even adjusted a system of his HUD.

Then he pointed out: “There!” She heard the excitement and didn’t have look to know what he had sighted.

Nevertheless she turned the shuttle sharply around and changed the altitude to get a better look herself. He was right, it was still there, the remains of a fourth carcass made her hum in realisation of what the heavy infantry and the healer had done. They had also encountered the animal.

On her second descend the Boetay looked up. She pulled the lever and piloted the shuttle up and away.

“Wait. What? Where are you going?” He sounded distracted and upset.

“Hunting.” She only gave him a side-glance and a nod, but she knew that he was grinning widely under his helmet.

She chose the dry plains and with the shuttle they gathered their game easily. After they shot the third kind of antelope he inquired what she wanted to do with all the meat.

“Three parties to supply, us, the farmers _and_ your _pet_.” He didn’t answer, but his helmet sank down on his chest.

When he chimed in in her chuckle she heard a slurred _sorry_ in between.

This time she let the farmers choose what they wanted to give them in return. She couldn’t keep a straight face when she heard the agitated hum from the green-blue warrior who had again taken up his position behind her and slightly to her left.

She gave him a glance at the nervous behaviour of the eldest woman who did the trading today. First she wondered, then she noted that he had changed his holster, it was not sitting against his right thigh, but against his left, his hand was hovering near.

“ _Diryc gar buy'ce_. _La haastal_.”

“I fear that the honey is not enough. Is there anything else we could trade you?” Her eye flickered towards Tharam again. He decidedly looked away.

“I don’t know, you could decide on it next time. But …” She tactically stopped.

“Yes, please, say.” She mused why the woman didn’t want to have anything that she regarded obviously as debts.

“ _Tengaanar gar irud_.” She nudged Tharam with her hip.

“ _Tion'jor_?”

“My … he got hurt, bitten by a Boetay. I was wondering if you have anything against inflammation.”

“It has hurt your husband? How awful! Please wait a moment. I have something for you.” With a speed unusual for elderly women she hurried back to her farmhouse.

 _Husband_ – her breathing had stopped for a moment as a wave of heat rolled down her neck. She let the comment pass and quickly concentrated on helping him to unclasp his vambrace and to roll his sleeve up. She had the punctures exposed when the farmer’s wife came back.

“This is an old recipe, handed down from one generation to the next.” She was already applying the yellowish ointment. “Say, is that poor animal still out there in the forest?”

“What do you know about it?” Her curiosity peaked.

“Not much, it seemed to have escaped some months ago. The owner and his hunters were not agreeable, to say the least.”

The brave next to her was quick to intercept: “Does that mean … is it tame?”

“I don’t know. With an owner like that you can’t hold it against the poor creature if it prefers to not meet any humans anymore.”

He almost growled: “He mistreated it? … Sorry.” The woman had flinched back at his suddenly violent voice.

“He definitely didn’t treat the other animals nicely, nor the people.”

She felt the little tug at her cloak and when she looked at him he emanated an energy like a child in front of a toy-shop. She snorted, sighed, then nodded. Lastly she shook her head with an expression of disbelief.

“Well, thank you very much. You can trade the surplus meat and maybe get whatever you need.”

The small jar with the ointment was shoved back into her hands when she tried to pass it back to the woman. And suddenly she felt herself caught in a rather strong embrace: “Be safe.” before the woman went back to her home.

-*-*-*-

He had seen her tense up, but never in a way like she did when the old Sundari woman dropped the bomb. _Husband_ – he kept perfectly still, although he wanted to say, scream or do something, anything. All of a sudden he felt like he was bursting with energy.

The woman had maybe seen him the second time and never spoken to either of them, yet her assumption about their relationship had flown naturally over her lips.

But soon his attention was drawn to what she had to say about the Boetay. He had his suspicions answered and his decision was set, he would try to help the young mammal. He knew that she thought him to be crazy, but the exasperated smile that she sent his way had him only more excited.

He was just waiting for the shuttle to set down and the hatch to open, the antelope was already slung over his left shoulder. But before she opened her shuttle she donned her helmet and placed a rifle in the crook of her arm

“This time I’m not going to take any chances.” Her hand was still hovering over the panel with its blinking buttons.

He stepped closer to her: “This time you are with me.” Slowly he lowered his eyes and his helmet. The vocoder covered his quickened inhale as she placed a hand on the dented cheek part and leant in to meet him. He didn’t feel the weight of the animal on his shoulder anymore. When he lifted his eyes they were only met by the red T-visor, but he knew she was looking at him.

He nodded shortly his readiness and she let down the hatch. Both were stunned by the sight that greeted them. The houndlike creature was lying just outside the forest, eyeing them and waiting. Then vaguely and tentatively the tail twitched, a shy wagging, accompanied by a whine.

He stepped down the ramp and towards the beast. Only the shadow on the ground told him what was going on in his back. Instinctively she had started to aim and move so that she had always a free range.

He stopped immediately when the animal crouched lower: Slowly he let the antelope slide off his shoulder and lowered himself on his haunches. His blade was sharp and he quickly he had a foreleg detached and held it out to the creature.

It came forward haltingly and he noted it still limped badly. Its snout was able to reach the presented leg and instead of grabbing it, the young predator lay down and started gnawing at the meat.

He could feel his pulse beating a hard rhythm in his throat. Those fangs were really close, but with its half closed eyes the animal contently tugged at the presented meat.

He guessed that any training of these animals was time consuming, so the man keeping it previously must have invested some time already. He tried to calculate the time it had been on the loose and in ownership to estimate its age.

“Can’t be much older than a standard year. Can you give me the ointment?” He kept his voice steady and low.

It was a deep sigh he got for an answer: “Seriously?”

“Want to earn its trust, don’t we? He grinned widely under his helmet.

“We – huh?!” She inched closer, the rifle still pointing at the animal to hand him the little jar.

He inched closer, still holding the foreleg as a peace offering. When he was able to place it between the paws of the Boetay he let go. His heart was racing as the neck stretched and the large head was able to reach his hand.

The animal started sniffing intensely and then its tongue lapped out, darting over his gloved hand. He heard the sharp inhale and muttered warning behind him. He was confident when he uncurled his fingers and lay them against the underside of the muscular jaws.

A shiver ruffled up the brown coat with its black stripes. Then he tried his voice, cooing soothingly, softly with his dark baritone. When the Boetay reacted with a whine and a deep inhale he got bolder. He trailed his hand down the throat of the beast. It took only a few strokes and it leaned heavily against his caressing hand.

“It’s drooling.” She sounded suspicious and he heard a tint of worry.

“It likes it.” He needed to sound at least twice as sanguine as he felt. It was still risky what he planned to do, but it was essential to help the hurt Boetay. He eyed the wound on its flank, still a number of inches out of his reach.

Keeping his left on its throat he added his right to slowly stroke along its back. He had to move back as the large body shifted and the animal came to lie on its side. Jumping back and out of its way was now impossible, his feet were buried beneath it.

Further and further he reached back, never lessening his caressing of the weighty neck. He gave the fur near the scab a testing tug. The massive head shot up with a whine.

Out from the corner he saw her rifle coming up, quickly he stopped her in a hushed voice: “Wait.”

He let the weakened animal sniff at the opened jar. Slowly the head moved over his glove and up his vambrace – he could feel a soft whimper escaping the animal’s throat – further up where the Sundari woman had treated him with the ointment.

“Do you think it remembers?” He genuinely wished to know.

He struggled with his glove, had to step his heel on it to get it off. Again he stroke along the back and marvelled at the softness of the fur. This time, when he neared its flank it kept still. Just its tail wagged a bit.

“I believe they are more sentient than people think.” She doubted him, but he didn’t blame her that she never lowered the rifle, aiming unwaveringly at the prone predator. He had to admit that it made him feel safer, and he continued. He started with the deeper part of the laceration and softly applied the ointment.

“Think it knows that I want to help.” He knew he wouldn’t get an answer, she was just too much concentrating on every reaction of the in itself dangerous carnivore.

When he had finished his treatment he slowly inched back. It instantly earned him a forlorn whine. He looked up at her and tilted his helmet.

“No.”

“It’s a foundling.” He tried his best puppy voice.

“No, it is not. It’s the prime predator of Garos.”

“It’s not grown yet, still a … baby?” He rose his voice with the last word.

“What will you tell the others. We have younglings, they would be in danger.”

He noted how she said _we_ and how protective she acted over them. He tried another strategy: “It can’t hunt.”

She let out a short and annoyed sigh: “Then we do the hunting until it can provide for itself again. End of story. Now come.”

He heard her curse in more than five languages all the way back into the cockpit. When it came to their own foundlings she was right, but he had a feeling that time would tell, maybe even quite soon.

-*-*-*-

The container was bulky and after some time in the narrow tunnel heavy to manoeuvre. Probably every single person of the tribe had added something. But all the discomfort was forgotten as he saw the eery beauty of the tunnel with its shimmering streaks and dots.

The more amazed he was when they entered the crater: “No wonder they didn’t have time to explore another cave. Don’t want to imagine what they have been doing here.”

He felt the anger rise, but it vanished in thin air at realizing that Tharam and Vayra were really sharing this wonderful place with him and Tulata to … he felt as if face was covered with melted iron and the wave of heat was experiencing spread further down, engulfing his whole torso.

He needed a distraction, he squatted down and looked up the woman he loved: “I wonder why it is so heavy.”

She moved to be able to look over his shoulder as he opened the container: “Presents?”

“Is that a note?” She pointed at a piece of rolled skin, a piece of red thread held it together.

He handed it to her: “What does it say?”

 _ **Open afterwards**_.

They both stared at it. What he then pulled out had them more and more astonished. A pelt, two cushions, a botte with a dark red liquid, two sturdy glasses, covered plates that smelled of different kinds of food.

When he unrolled the pelt a bunch of flowers rolled onto the ground. As she bent to pick it up it dimmed on him: “Those kriffin’ ….”

She turned towards him and holding the flowers to her chest like she did silenced him at once and his personal heating system decided to go to the next higher setting.

“What does that all mean.” He could hear her amazement, her curiosity and her suspicion.

“Tharam said something about helping me out, but I’d never have thought …,” he trailed off.

He could her hear her amused snigger, besides that she kept silent and waiting while his helmet kept staring at her.

“Tul’ika.” His throat felt sore all of a sudden. It was now or never. With all the effort everybody had put into the preparations it would be a shame to let them go to waste.

“I wanted to ask … “ His voice sounded so coarse even though he had just cleared his throat several times.

“I was wondering ….. Makers …I’m not made for this.” His impatience got the upper hand. “I’m sorry, I wanted this to be right and it seems everyone helped with making it special. Only I don’t seem to be able to come out with the right words.”

Heating system on – check, full setting – check. He was burning in his own suit.

“Why don’t you just try the old-fashioned, simple, four words?” Her voice was a nervous whisper as she prompted him.

And suddenly everything seemed so easy. He thought about what he had once observed by accident on Tatooine and switched position, he came to a knee before her: “Tul’ika will you marry me?”

He didn’t have time to worry about her answer as she leant down and pressed her forehead against his: “ _Ner kar’ta_. I already feared that I’d have to ask you. Of course I will.”

“When should we …” It wasn’t like he wanted to pressure her, but as he looked, with everything at their disposal, the right time would certainly be now.

“They have set everything for us it seems, even wedding presents.” She sounded slightly embarrassed, be she was probably as nervous as he was.

Slowly he rose, peeled off his gloves and held both hands out for her to hold.

Their bare hand entwined.

“ _Mhi_ …,“ he watched her as she nodded encouragingly.

“ _Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde._ “

He wondered if she could understand him at all, his voice became more and more hoarse, it was about to break, but she didn’t seem to mind as she repeated the words, with a shaking in her own voice, to seal their _riduurok_.

To lean in and simple share a Keldabe kiss was no longer enough, had never been enough. Now they didn’t need the secrecy of darkness anymore.

He was even more nervous when he heard the hiss of his helmet’s seal too loud in his ears. Her hands reached up to cover his and his heart panged at the sudden and irrational fear that she didn’t want to see him at all.

When one of her hands to unlatch the seal of her helmet he started breathing again.

“Together.” She just knew how to ease the squished feeling.

“And no running away.” He had seen her hands were as shaky as his.

“Nope, no running.” Her quivered inhale did things to him, had his own breath hitch and his heart stutter.

He counted down from three, he watched as long as the vertical line of his visor allowed, he squinted and blinked several times and then just gazed as his mouth slowly fell open.

Everything blurred on the edges, he only registered the woman before him. How her dark blonde hair just barely touched her shoulders, how her amber eyes sparkled, how her full lips curled into a smile, those lips which he immediately wanted to kiss.

“N-no ru-running?” He wasn’t sure what she saw that made her smile. He only knew what he saw when he looked into the mirror of the ship’s fresher just this morning. An angular face, the crew cut of his jet black hair definitely needed a re-do, strong chin almost hidden beneath a likewise coloured five-day beard, if it weren’t the two greying streaks leading down from the corners of this mouth, grey-blue eyes almost matching his armour in colour.

He did need no further explanation when she curled her fingers under the topmost part of his cuirass and pulled him against her, he did need no further assurance when her lips crushed against his.

It left them both breathless and he was barely able to mouth: “Shall we open …”

“… Afterwards.”

Only too happily he obliged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> al’verde: commander  
> riduurok: love bond, specifically between spouses - marriage agreement  
> di’kut: idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)  
> Diryc gar buy'ce: Lower your helmet  
> La haastal: She is scared  
> Tengaanar gar irud: show your arm  
> Tion'jor: Why  
> Ner kar’ta: lit.: my hear; my love  
> Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde: We are one whether we are together or apart, we will share everything and we will raise our children as warriors. A Mandalorian marriage contract.


	35. White can cleanse the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprises are due and overcoming one's past can be satisfactory for both parties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one got very long and hopefully the fluff factor his high enough.  
> at least now the path is cleared for more interaction *wink*  
> August is the month of holidays, the connection here (where I do spend my holidays) is not that good, I might take somewhat longer for the next chapter.. bare with me.. thanks

It was so different. Where his olfactory, and especially his tactile and auditory sense had guided him in the darkness, now his visual sense eclipsed as he had to learn her anew.

Watching her as her eyes raked up and down his body had him squirm. Watching her as her head fell back with a moan boosted his passion. Watching her come undone increased his own high.

But what was different. He couldn’t place it at first, all he knew was, where he had pleased he wanted to please more intensely, where he had enjoyed he wanted to enjoy longer.

The difference was, that their vows were a proof for him that she was all his and all she wanted was him, the difference was that he had never felt more at home than with when he was with her.

The turquoise water served to cool their heated bodies and the content of the container satiated their thirst and hunger in the most delicious ways.

“How did they know,” she mused as she had finished the last bite of the delicacies. Her head rested comfortably on his abdomen. His hand was buried in her hair and absentmindedly his fingers massaged her scalp. He liked the little sounds of pleasure he could draw from her that way.

“They had had bets ru ….,” he bit his tongue – _Har’chaak_! _Stupid – how do I get out of that now_.

“Who had bets running?” He blew out the excessive air trapped in his lungs, her tone was amused, her eyes were sparkling when she threw him a glance.

“Obviously the whole covert … obnoxious pack … for months,” he sighed suddenly disgusted at the ever present gossiping within the covert. With more hiding than action there had not been that much to be done to pass the time.

“And how would _you_ know about it?” Her voice was teasing him.

“Asked Tharam if …,” he stopped dead – Osi’kyr! – _how was she even able to make him reveal everything_.

“You asked him for my hand?” She had been silent for a long time – _was she testing the waters, was she disapproving, was she appreciating_ – He couldn’t tell.

It held him enthralled until the air burnt in his lungs, until he found a way to explain himself: “As you are a clan of two, I wondered what his plans were and somehow he managed… we then …”

When she started to snigger softly he was able to breathe again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disregard you. Just wanted to makes sure the family approved.”

She rolled over and folded her arms under her chin as she eyed him from her position on his lower chest. The smile didn’t vanish as she studied him, neither as she used his shoulders as a leverage to pull herself up until their faces were on the same level.

He became almost cross-eyed when she got so close that their noses touched. His eyes danced from one pool of molten gold to the other. Her hands felt soothingly cool on his cheeks.

“You know that I’m a grown woman who makes her own decisions … shhh … but I think it was considerate … and sweet.”

She had shushed him when he had opened his mouth just to clap it shut again. She puckered her lips to catch his. He closed his eyes as she pampered him with kisses. Only when she pulled back he blinked. She was moving off him and turned to the two still wrapped packages.

He sat up and waited for her to choose which one to open first. He didn’t wonder when he was handed the longer and heavier one. Together they started unwrapping simultaneously.

“ _Wayii_!” He was wheezing as he stared at the display. An E-11 blaster rifle with a telescopic range-finding sight, a folding three-position stock and the modification to house the glowrod along with a box of power cells and another with plasma cartridges lay on a new oilcloth.

He was too stunned and stared at the gun, running his fingers carefully, almost reverentially along the barrel: “This must have cost … a fortune.”

“Not only yours.” Her awestruck whisper made him look over. A fully equipped medkit, larger than the normal compact field care packages, of a size only to be found on the really large star ships, lay open in front of her. Scanners, different sprays, several vials, bandages, a sonic scalpel, a laser cauterizer and a sewing kit, a bone stabilizer compound and other medical items were neatly stacked in their proper places. Additionally several smaller boxes labelled Bacta and one saying Kolto.

When he saw her eyes glistering he wrapped his arms around her: “Whoever got this, they are just kriffin’ crazy. They are definitely up for something.” He had to use anger to compensate the other emotions swelling up in him.

He knew that she was not completely altruistic when she made him stay longer, her excuse to give her brother and Vayra their sweet time was well chosen. Neither was he completely unselfish when he made sure that their time was more than well spent.

-*-*-*-

Beneath her helmet she was scowling. Of course she had seen how pitifully skinny the Boetay looked, of course she had felt the pang of sympathy when it looked up as if it could see and recognize them. But she wouldn’t just give in without a fight.

The protective stance, looming in her back, his hand hovering over his holster while the other was placed on her pauldron, had made her grin. Of course there could be hidden guns pointing at them, he certainly had never encountered that many people who didn’t want to be rid of him in the most effective way, but she was certain that these were not the intentions of these Sundari.

She might not have felt the squeeze on the protective piece of Beskar, but what transported even through it was the almost imperceptibly increasing shaking that originated from his hand. It made her tense.

The tension didn’t lessen when she had to watch the unpredictable animal and the brave. The first for the obvious reason what it was capable of, no matter how weak and hurt, the latter for the increased respiration and unsteady movements.

More than once her heart summersaulted at the mammal’s reaction, tearing her from one emotion to the other – from dread to sympathy and back. And when the predator lapped at his glove and it huge head moved further up his arm her finger was curling against the trigger.

It lay down trapping more or less the brave – second time her finger curled. Its head shot up – third time her finger hadn’t uncurled anymore. Only his command held her in place.

She could understand him only too well, the whine was heart-tearing, and he did his best to rival the Boetay when he pled in the behalf of the animal, but she had to step her foot down. The others were to be considered, especially those who could easily and defencelessly fall prey to such a big predator.

There were other ways to make sure that the animal survived without taking it back to her ship. She started to wonder how his sister dealt with his antics – she would definitely have to ask her.

She was too concentrated on the animal which moved back to a crouching position when he came to a stand. What was it with the quick step that he took backwards – was it to balance himself after pulling out his feet from under the heavy body, was there more to it?

She was just sitting down in the pilot’s seat when she heard the sound of metal on metal. Alarmed she turned, the green-blue pauldron was leaning heavily against the door of the cockpit and the helmet shook from one side to the other like a drunk Rancor.

“Are you ok?” Her eyes darted over his body in a try to read its language.

The helmet swayed a bit more before it focused on her and he nodded. She scrutinized him when he bodily pulled himself towards the co-pilot’s set and sat down heavily.

“Jusht a dizzhy shpell. Rose t’quickly.” He sounded drunk, words slurring.

“Will take you back to the ship immediately.” She watched as he lifted one leg after the other to place them on the console in front of him and slumped down in the seat. With a thump his helmet fell back against the headrest and lolled to the side.

She was out of her seat and with one step at his side. Her hands reached to his pauldrons as she saw his Adam’s apple work beneath the cowl, his chest heaved with deep, measured breaths.

“I’m fine. Jusht need a minute.”

She placed her hands on the dented cheek parts: “ Do _not_ lie to me.”

She must have sounded insistently enough when his tired voice answered: “ _Draar_.”

Almost without losing sight of him she initiated the starting sequence and had the ship rise. A quick look down revealed that the Boetay was still where they had left it, feeding hungrily off the meat. He must have got a glimpse too as he hummed contently.

As short as the sound was it punched her in the gut. She was thankful for her helmet as she threw him another look. And another when he untangled his legs and sat straighter in his chair. She tilted her head as she had seen him doing when he vocalised a question without using his voice.

“Better. Told you, just dizzy.”

She thought that it was a kind of amused snort that she heard and felt more at rest when he reached for the data pad to pull up a map of the surrounding. From the corner of her eye she saw the helmet scanning the pad then the outsides.

“What are you looking for?” She wondered if she had missed something.

When he showed her one of the old craters she sighed: “Really?” The nod she got for an answer was vigorous. “The ship would be the better choice, given what you just …”

“Please. _Gedet’ye_.” She was thinking, pondering. “Pretty, pretty please?” He stretched his plea, his baritone a brook’s soft murmur, a rising sun’s soft rays, velvety and irresistible. It was worse than when he had plead about the Boetay.

She glowered at him from beneath her helmet, silently accusing him for the next punch to her innards, then she changed the course. There was this humming again that punched her low and deep.

He was a good navigator, it felt familiar to follow his concrete instructions, down to height measurements and time of set-down. His quiet voice started a mechanism running in her, muscle memory set in.

Instruction here: “Set-down, five feet, smooth surface, solid beneath.”

Confirmation there: “Aye, roger that.”

“Set down in five, four, three … set-down.”

“Roger, D …” Her head ripped back and towards him, her teeth clenched shut. The searing pain in her mouth and the metallic taste of having bitten the inside of her cheek did little to distract her.

A little more distraction was given by the helmet of the warrior, conversing with her without words. He had swivelled his head equally fast towards her, the visor was staring, then the helmet sank until its lower end reached the cuirass, but quickly it came up again, wiggled from side to side and came to a rest in a tilt.

She didn’t know what to do or how to react, he made her cry and laugh at the same time – she restricted herself to a snort, slightly distressed yet also amused enough.

From the outside it could be missed easily, the walls surrounding the crater were steep and unforgiving. From the air it was just a small green spot. Only once within the complete beauty could be taken in. The middle of the crater rose, densely forested, the rim overgrown in a high blooming meadow, the tallest grasses and flowers easily reaching the front screen of her shuttle.

The lowering ramp folded the grasses over, preparing a carpet of green speckled with all the colours of a rainbow, yellows, reds, blues and more. A puff of pollen gushed up, hovering in a cloud. The various scents invaded her nostrils in an intoxicating way.

She scanned the area for lifeforms, but there was nothing bigger than the size of her hand. She confirmed twice, trying different settings of her HUD only then she was put at ease, which didn’t mean that she hadn’t attached her rifle.

In a sea of swaying green they wove their way towards the middle of the crater. The Nevarro brave hat activated some kind of scanner, its soft beeping sounds, the buzzing of insects, the birds’ songs and the breeze of the wind were the only acoustic surrounding.

Several times he stopped and she waited patiently behind him until he spread the way through the thicket for her again. The closer they came towards the cluster of trees the more often he lingered.

She called out to him inquiringly, he barely turned his head and took up his path again. She tried again and called out to through the HUD-com, the only answer she got was a wheezed static before he shut the system off.

“Not far anymore.” He sounded winded as he reclined against the first sturdy tree trunk. Hearing him she knew why he had switched the vocoder off.

“This was a bad idea, we should have gone back to the ship. I shouldn’t have listened to you.” She was pulling out a small med scanner from her utility belt, but he pushed off the tree and headed on.

“ _Atin utreekov_! Will you kindly wait instead of running off!” The flaring impatience turned into dread when he stumbled over a root, barely able to catch himself from falling.

She didn’t need the enhancing systems of her helmet. She could hear his panted wheezes even from the distance.

“Te- _Di’kut_! Stop your antics! Wait till I drag your sorry ass back to the shuttle! I’ll see to it that your sister confines to you the med bay for at least a week!”

She felt helpless as he dragged on, she managed to grab his arm, but he shook her off, he managed to stay at least a step ahead of her. How he did it, as winded as he sounded, was beyond her.

She lurched forward and grabbed his arm again, but this time he stopped within stride and she clashed into him, staggering him forward until he caught himself again.

Within the grove a small cluster of rock rose, several pillarlike constructions proved to be columnar basalt under her scanner. She didn’t wonder, after all they were in the crater of a cold volcano.

The ground was jet-black, there were bright green dots randomly strewn on it. She stepped forward, passing the warrior who had been in lead. She drew another step closer, pulling the brave with her.

Together they took their first step off the forest moss and onto the dark surface, a first column rising high in front of them. She let go of his arm as she picked up several of the small green stones.

“Chrysolite, but where do they come from, lying around like that?” She looked around and back at the stones in her hand.

“The vol … the volca … no.” The front of his flight suit was sweat-stained, he stood bent over, his hands clutching his knees as if they were they only thing anchoring him.

“Idiot, told you we should go back.”

A groan, a whisper, a rasp, a wheeze – no!

She felt the blood shooting up into her head, the droning in her ears became a deafening noise as she watched him clumsily reaching out fumbling for the basalt pillar to support him.

_“Gaa… Gaa’tayl!” – No!_

“NO!” She stumbled forward, reached out. His knees buckled and gave in. His weight fell against her and tore her down with him. His arms hung over her pauldrons. His helmet knocked into hers.

“ _Ner … ner ko-kovid_.” It was more static than words.

 _“Lidye’ri … k-kovid_.“ She had to readjust the inter-com to understand him over the crackling.

 _“Aalar dush_ _._ ” He was groaning, but the sound was interrupted by something that came from deeper. She heard him suppressing a heave.

“Don’t get sick in it! “

“Tryin…hmpf.”

“Get the helmet off!” She had to help him to lower down. Only when he had safely put his hands on the ground she reached under the edges of his helmet.

“No. pl…”

“Won’t look, promise!” She hastened. The seal hissed and she closed her eyes as she started pulling blindly.

She shifted awkwardly, pressed her own helmet against the cold metal on her lap and one hand high on his back, circling slowly as she tried not to listen.

“W-water.”

She had to pat along her belt and pull the canteen forth. Reaching round the helmet she unscrewed and handed it to him. She heard him slosh and spit before he finally gulped down the liquid.

She was still pressing her forehead against the Beskar, holding onto its sleek form for dear life, when she felt his hands on hers demanding the helmet wordlessly back. As it left her grip she lowered her head even more.

“ _Vor entye … par yir_.” There was a soft pressure on the crown of her helmet and she squeezed her eyes even tighter.

“Feeling better?” Without the modulation she could hear how raw his voice sounded.

“Hmmm … just good I haven’t eaten anything. That would have been messy.” There was a self-satisfied chuckle which became almost nondescript with the modulator.

She clawed at the top of her helmet in frustration: “You are going to be the death of me.” She was waving her hands around expressively to accentuate her words: “You _do_ realize that you lost a good portion of your blood. Eating, regularly and healthily is a _necessity_. You just _can’t_ go running around and then break down on me like that.”

She heard him shuffle and scrape at the ground with his boot: “I’m sorry.”

“If this is going to … if I’m … we … … I need you … to take care of yourself.” Inhaling deeply helped to keep control on herself.

“Will do.” He helped her to a stand and she didn’t know who was helping who to keep standing.

“Those stones, they are worth something … a lot.” He had guided her a few steps away and they stood in their midst.

“If I can’t hunt I can provide that way.” She felt his grip around her arms tighten.

“Is it getting worse?” He didn’t have to answer, she just recognized it by the way he stood: “Back down, lie flat.”

She had ordered him around until he was finally stretched out on the ground and stood holding his ankles: “Sorry, the only thing I know to do right now.”

Although he was lying flat on his back she could see that he didn’t relax. It took some time before his breathing became slower and deeper.

“I start to feel my knees. And … This is somewhat … humiliating”

She gave his ankles a profound squeeze when he started to wriggle: “Yeah, I know, and a pebble is digging into your _shebs_. Nag nag. Remember, you brough this onto yourself.”

She had to balance herself at his next wriggle: “Now stop it or it will become even more humiliating.”

He growled at that remark: “As if it could get any worse.”

She only gave him a short warning with a very low chuckle. Her arms were getting lame anyway. Without any further prelude, she went onto her knees and replaced his ankles on her shoulders, angling his legs at more or less forty-five degrees. She had to keep a tight grip on them as he immediately started to shuffle with a surprised yelp.

 _“Gev_! Just think about something nice.”

“Seriously?!”She had to snort at his stressed puff and almost whined reply.

“Yeah. I in your position …” She was cut short, his helmet jerked up to look at her.

“… Oh yeah?” She just knew he meant it to sound as lewd as it came through his vocoder.

She rolled her eyes and sighed before she started again. Admittedly she had just played into his hands: “If those stones are that precious, I’d be collecting some, if I were in your position.”

Whatever he answered to that was lost in the static that came out of his helmet. But dutifully he started sweeping together the stones he could reach on either side.

She waited some more and watched as he let the green stones dribble through his gloves, scooping them up again.

She wondered what he was thinking about while they were silently waiting for his vertigo to leave.

His T-visor was watching the fall of the green stone when he suddenly mused: “They remind me of your eyes.”

His voice had changed, it was dark, rich even husky, not even the modulator could hide that. Her innards reacted to it in their own way, the warm coil tensed again.

Slowly she set his feet down and pulled back to sit against one of the pillars: “My eyes?”

With the help of his elbows he propped himself up: “Uh-hu. Like on Ossus. In that temple … same colour.”

“You remember that?” She was astonished that he had had time to register something like that: “It’s still a haze for me, just like back then. Only thing I clearly remember is that voice, though couldn’t say who or what it belonged to.” She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them: “Much clearer is that dream.”

She clutched her arms harder and he propped himself up on his hands. Taking his time to do not get dizzy again.

“The one you said it was a good one?” From the tilt of his helmet she knew that that it was her time to be scrutinized. He was just sitting there, with his legs outstretched and resting his weight on his hands.

She was only able to speak about it when she didn’t see him watching her, when she felt as if she were talking to herself: “There is still so much I’d like to know. I still do not get what I actually dreamt about there. I remember being on Dxun … I mean … we really did spend some days there. Other things I saw, dreamt of did also happen. The hunting. The wine. The campfire.”

She paused as she recollected, separating her dream from her past: “Me asking what our next destination was. I had asked Jurann and Mayh the very same words – where do we go from here. But back then they had told me, they hadn’t just pointed and then left.”

“What did they point at?”

She looked at him and then up to the crown of the trees: “Upwards, to the stars. Like this.” She pointed just like she had seen Jurann doing it and the brave sitting with her in the grove lifted his helmet as if seeing what she was pointing at.

“Still don’t know what he was meant by that. Tried to look it up on maps even.” She shook her head, her search had been fruitless.

“What if … he was showing you … that your ways were separating. Like … they go there and you there?”

She looked up at him, he had seen something that she had missed: “A foreshadowing of their death?” She had to be sure what he meant.

“Not really a foreshadowing. … Everyone would have done everything to prevent what actually happened. And he didn’t do it when you were on Dxun, only now … in your dream. No, more an explanation to those questions haunting you ever since. You asked them were you were going, he showed you two different destinations. They went into the Manda, you are still here.”

She had to inhale deeply to digest what the Nevarro brave said. It felt like he was filling a deep hole, but although this was an answer she had been looking for, she felt like it dragged her deeper with its unfamiliarity.

“This wasn’t all you saw in your dream.” He moved closer until his feet could touch hers.

She lowered her head again, staring between her feet: “When I turned, Denx was standing next to me. He hadn’t there … when I talked to them.”

“You hadn’t found him where they had died.” His words had come carefully, but there was a conviction in his statement.

“No. They had split up … or been separated.” She knew he had died fighting. The battlefield had told her that much. “He died a warrior’s death, but alone. The Imps … their tactic had worked out.”

She couldn’t help the bitterness that crept into her voice.

“What did he do in your dream? Also point?” He shuffled a bit closer, the toes of their boots touching as he imitated her position to sit.

“Yes, but not up, just to the front. And he … I heard his voice.” She was closing her eyes to get a hold on herself.

She had to move, sitting with her knees bunched up had become uncomfortable. But there weren’t that many options. She tapped her toes against his, he shuffled his feet until she could stretch her legs more. She could feel the steady warms of his calves against hers.

When she looked at her listener again she gazed at his hands which he left dangling over his knees. She could grab them, hold them. Once again he showed her with his body language alone that he was ready to be there for her. With a single measured nod he invited her to continue.

It was worse to repeat the words than to just remember them. Yet, while she recited them to the warrior opposite her she found that she understood them more and more: “He said that it was time to rest and to say their remembrance.”

The brave’s interpretation had given her a better insight on the whole dream: “He said that he’s in my heart, that it’s my coordinates”

“And then he left too.” It was as if he had seen what she had seen in the dream. His understanding of it sounded in her ears as if he had been with her instead of just listening to her retelling it.

“Did he tell me to go on? To move on with my life?” She just couldn’t trust herself, her intuition and interpretation.

“I think it sounds like it. But it isn’t important what I think. What _you_ think and feel is important.”

“I’ve lived as if I had marched on, too … despite still being alive.” She needed to hold something, to feel that she could touch something with substance.

He squeezed her hands back: “Yes, you are.”

“Saying their remembrance is only worth something when I really walk the way of Manda’lor.” She watched him as he solemnly inclined his helmet.

“Can you … will you…” At his nod she gave his hands a tug.

It was an awkward way to move. She slowly stretched her legs completely as he inched closer. He had to position his legs over hers. On either side of her hips his angled knees came to a stop.

It was an intimate way to sit, so close. She had to spread her legs to make room for him to sit. Their thighs, their hips almost touched. In spite of their proximity he made sure to not press against her. Entwined they stilled, she was reading him and herself, getting used to this closeness, to feel his warmth.

With the new self-confidence she felt she reached round his neck and tugged again. When their helmets rested against each other they stilled again. She didn’t flinch when she felt him reach for her sides and hold her.

“Are you okay? Is this okay?” He had reached up to his helmet and his tender baritone reached her, no longer modulated through the vocoder, almost in its full naturalness, only slightly obscured by the physical obstacle of the helmet.

“What did you do?” She hadn’t expected this. She pulled back and put her hand on the vertical line of his visor. Her finger traced where his mouth lay hidden underneath.

“Switched it off. I want you to hear me. Is that okay?” Without the modulation there was nothing that hid the emotion in his voice.

Sincerity, longing, insecurity, hope. With each word she could hear and identify what moved him. Each word tugged at her inner self, each word blanketed her and made her long for another to wrap herself into.

“Yes … please. It is … beautiful … soothing.” She had heard indications and hints of his true voice before. She had come to like the way he pronounced certain words in a melodic singsong.

More and more she got used to the impact it had on her. More and more she gave way to the longing it induced on her.

“Can you …” She didn’t know how to form her request. Somehow it seemed off to ask and impossible to realize.

“Can I what?”

“Can I hear you … more often?” After her brave start she had hurried through her last words. She feared that she had sounded like an awestruck youngling.

“Gladly, whenever possible.”

“You mean, whenever we are alone?” Shortly she calculated the likeliness and her smile sank. She would have to practically steal more time to be able to hear his voice like this.

“Yes, when we are alone … always.”

“You have …” She got more flustered, she didn’t want to make it sound like an accusation.

“I have what?”

“You have heard Dargak use my name, but you have never … used it.” A sudden sensation of disappointment stole itself into her heart at the realization, a sudden yearning to hear her name roll off his tongue.

“No, I haven’t.” The soft squeeze against her padded gambeson made her look closer. Her perception had made him sit straighter.

“Why?” She couldn’t bring her voice above a whisper. Her heart told her that she didn’t have to fear his answer, her brain didn’t cease to work against it though.

“ _You_ never gave me your name.”

It was so simple and so true. She had never given him her name, just like he had never given his to her. He only knew because of her father and she only knew because of his sister.

The secrecy of his tribe, their turbulent escape and the following events on Ossus and Garos, everything had prevented them from really having time to get closer acquainted, to share more of themselves. And, she had to admit to herself, she had barred herself, too.

“Will you use it when I give it to you?” She was wondering genuinely, something told her he would be reluctant.

“Gladly, … when we are alone.”

“Because of the privacy which your tribe values?” She couldn’t find any other explanation.

“Yes, secrecy ensure … d our survival.” The shift in his voice, in his emotions was easily heard. He was struggling with the recent past, with the fate of his tribe.

“Will you … share yours?” Again she felt the soft squeeze on her sides, a tension that had come reflexively. She could feel the tension under her hands as the muscles in his shoulders worked.

“I …”

Her thumb stroke along his neck, eliciting a soft hum from him. She didn’t want him to feel pressured: “You don’t have to.”

“I want to, but …”

“But the secrecy … I understand.” She really did, her brain did, her heart did not, it protested. “It won’t be against your standards when I tell you mine?” There was still so much she had to learn, worlds seemed to separate them.

“No, it won’t … I would like to hear it … from you, to … call you by it, but ...”

She felt the soft pinch again, but it was different: It sent a different signal, less reluctance and tension, more affection and eagerness, and something else. She was still learning about the small variations of expressions and modulations.

Within a sentence he was able to give her security, to raise her hopes and to shatter both completely with a single word of limitation.

She was reluctant to prod him for further insight. Barely above a whisper he could decide to ignore her voice: “But…?”

He breathed shallowly for what seemed an eternity to her. When he inhaled deeply she knew he was finally going to answer: “But I would like us … both to be able to use … our names ... I …”

She quietly tapped the vertical part of his visor. An instant warm feeling crept into her face as she realized that her hand had never left his helmet, it made her remove her hand.

“What do _you_ feel comfortable with to share?” She desperately hoped that he would come up with his family name that his sister had shared. Being always on guard to not reveal her knowledge of it had proven difficult in times of stress.

“I think … I could get used to … hearing my family name.”

She knew how alien it must be for him to hear an outsider address him, but if he had been completely opposed to it, he would have come up with something completely different, she mused.

“So …what will you call me? Kryban or Vayra?” Somehow it felt ridiculous to discuss something as simple as a name so thoroughly that it made her snigger.

“It will be Kryban … for the time being, until I …”

“Good. Until then.” She didn’t want him to elaborate further. She could guess what he was referring, but with her problem of letting the people of her past go she felt this would have been a step too large for the moment.

“Kryban.” He muttered her name and when she hummed in response he just repeated it several times, trying it, testing it, rolling it off his tongue until she snorted.

“Careful, it might rub off.” She gave his neck a pinch that made him pull up his shoulder.

She was not prepared when his hands reached up and pulled her helmet against his. Once again she heard her name leaving his lips, but with much more depth, so deep in tone that one might have mistaken it for a sigh or even a moan.

It felt like it echoed within her with all the vibration of his sonorous baritone when a lone breathed syllable interrupted the sensation welling up in her: “Tern.”

She had to digest it first before she hummed in response: “Won’t abuse it.” At the growl he answered her with she giggled.

He waited until she had settled again and only the sounds of nature and their breathing broke the silence to whisper his request: “Please, say it, just once.”

Even in his whisper she could detect the unmodulated, presented emotions. He really wanted, longed to hear her say his name, now that he had shared it.

“Tern.” Her voice was also barely above a whisper and if his hands hadn’t still clutched her helmet she would have felt his grip harden crushingly. That way she only felt the slight tremble that ran through his body.

It was her time to ask: “Is that okay?”

“I … I think so. … It’s strange, … no matter how … how much I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“You sound so … distressed. Is really everything okay?” Another violent shiver ran through him as she nestled her fingers beneath his neck scarf to find his pulse. She found it and it was rapid.

He grunted amusedly: “Distressed is the wrong word. Nervous, yes. Excited, definitely. Embarrassed, maybe.”

“Whatever it is, it made your heart race. Do you still feel dizzy?” She was about to peel her fingers back when he trapped her hand beneath his.

He guided her other hand from his shoulder and placed it over his _Beskaryc Kar’ta_ : “You … and yes, a bit … because of you.”

She had to huff in amusement: “Don’t make me responsible for it. Most of it is because of your blood loss.”

“Maybe before not now. Your presence does that to me. Can’t control myself when you are that close.”

“I can …” If she was the reason why he felt uncomfortable she had to do something against it, she could shuffle back, bring more distance between them.

“Don’t … please.” It hadn’t been his intention but intuitively he struck the right chord within her, it resonated through her whole body.

So she stayed until she felt his breathing slow down, just his heartbeat kept pulsating under her fingers. She stayed until he placed her hand back on his neck, just to move his back to her sides. She stayed until it grew darker in the grove.

It made her realize how much time they had spent in a complete silence, completely absorbed in each other’s presence.

“Tern, before we leave, can I …can you …” Her fingers traced over the vertical blue line.

His hands left her sides and reached up, halted for a moment, reached beneath and she heard the releasing hiss. Then he stilled again.

It was her turn. She removed her helmet and placed it next to her. Her eyes searched his visor as she ascertained within herself that she was ready. Her heart was thumping loudly, matching his in its speed.

But today she was the one initiating, acting on the feeling that it was right. With a final deep inhale she closed her eyes.

-*-*-*-

Fatigue caused by the loss of too much blood made his world spin, sometimes fast and sometimes slower. Cowering next to the animal for some time and then rising made his vision blur so much that he was just happy to reach the co-pilot’s seat.

When the droning in his head had subsided he was finally able to register how anxious she had reacted. She did care, this knowledge sent a warmth deep down into his innards. It was not only that she cared about his well-being, but he noted that she did make sure that his furred charge was well too.

What made his heartbeat accelerate again was a small crater and the information about it that lit up his data pad, he had to go down there. It hadn’t been easy to convince her to steer her shuttle there and the look she must have thrown him from under her helmet – he made sure that she couldn’t hear his smile.

She was a good pilot and he quickly fell into the routine of co-piloting. It somewhat reminded him of the days on the Crest. Involuntarily his thoughts turned to the other hunter. They haven’t heard anything of him. Many questions were running through his mind – was he safe, had he tried to contact them, had he returned to Nevarro to find the covert destroyed.

Just a word, the beginning of a name, just the first letter of it – it tore him out of his thoughts and it tore more in him. He was not the only one who had travelled back in time.

There was not much he could do. She had clearly giving away what she had been about to say. He could only distract her, show her that he understood and didn’t mind. Wiggling his helmet in the end earned him a snort. It was the utmost he could ask for.

His scanner showed him the whereabout of his destination, it was in the middle of the crater within a cluster of trees. They had to land the shuttle at the rim where tall grasses were the only obstacle and then make their way across to the centre of the old crater.

It was not that far. But the short rest he got while flying there had not been enough. Only with setting the modulation of his HUD lower he was able to hide his shortness of breath. Whenever he became too lightheaded he stopped. But he wasn’t to be stopped by her inquiries.

Only when she became too agitated he activated the system to tell her that they were near. But it was a bad idea. She had her scanner out. He knew without it that they should return. His hands and feet felt icy and a sheet of cold sweat was covering him. But he needed to reach the place that his scanner unerringly showed him.

Bringing his sister down on his ass was her worst threat and he know he would be on the losing side if the two women worked together against him. But, maybe, when she was able to see what he had found she would refrain from it. Although on second thoughts, he would have liked to see how she want to drag him back to the shuttle.

Her trying to keep him from carrying out his plan cost him even more of his remaining strength. He had to set a pace which he couldn’t keep up. His ears were numb with the increased pounding, it was all he was able to hear.

Finally. The centre of the old volcano. He had made it. With a satisfied smile he noted that she knew of the value of his finding.

The green speckles on the dark ground weaved in and out. He bent and clutched his knees. On closer inspection the ground itself weaved and wavered and spun. He couldn’t take it. It made him dizzy, it made his limbs numb. It made him stagger. It made his knees give in.

She was there. She was there to catch his fall. He couldn’t get a grip, just hang on to her. The world hadn’t stilled it still spun and careened. It changed the taste of his salvia. He tried to swallow it down, repeatedly. He couldn’t get sick, but he felt the heave from deep down in his belly.

The world didn’t stop not even with his eyes closed. His stomach lurched again. _Don’t get sick in it_ – he wanted to laugh, as if he had any control left in him. _Get the helmet off_ – he wanted to protest, as if he had any strength left in him.

It was unthinkable, impossible. But with her promise a calmness settled in him. She had had the chance to look, several times already, but she hadn’t. And he trusted her that she wouldn’t this time either.

Having eaten anything had its advantage now, there was nothing but bile his stomach could turn inside out. It still left a bad taste which he needed to slosh out. His vocal cords were messed up.

He looked down at her as covered up what had left him. He didn’t want to describe her as a picture of misery, but this portray was not too far off as she hunched there with her head pressed into the crook of her arms.

A wave of guilt washed over him, he didn’t want to be the reason for her concern. She was right, he had to take more care of himself – for her. But right at the point he couldn’t do anything but distract her with why he had insisted on leading her to the pillars.

It just took a few steps and a few words and the feeling fatigue returned with doubled force. This time he didn’t resist her command and stretched out on the ground. Relaxing was a different kettle of fish. He felt like one on dry land with the way she had grabbed his ankles and lifted his feet.

He tried to keep still, reciting that is was necessary to get his blood back into his head, to make him feel better. Be he couldn’t, it was strange, it made him feel more helpless than he actually was, it started to strain his knees.

He wanted to be out of this position, get away from it. He could have kicked her off, of course, but this was out of question. His idea had been to wriggle enough, to annoy her enough to let him go. In his line of thought this couldn’t get more humiliating.

Her menacing chuckle should have warned him. As soon as he heard it he went still, everything in him went still. His only reaction was that his eyes widened in realisation as she moved, but his body was not able to react, to counter-act.

The only reaction his body gave was a sudden tightness and wave of heat in his guts as she knelt between his leg in a position he had dreamt of. But this was wrong, there positions were reversed. It still made his throat tight as his brain somersaulted and sent him pictures of his vivid dreams.

She didn’t have to tell him to think of something nice. It was nice pictures, with him in her position. It sent more warmth in his loins and his muscles tensed. He swallowed down his groan. It was better to concentrate on something else.

Something like the stones. But even they didn’t help much. The bright green of the stone – the bright green of her eyes. Not always were her eyes of such a shade of green. They didn’t change in colour from one minute to the other, but he had come to know that in general her mood could be deciphered by the colour of her eyes.

He looked up at her as she released his legs, as sat back and as she curled up in herself. He had to read her body language well as she started to lay her dream bare. It was her dream, the only thing he could do was to ask questions, hopefully the right ones to help her to understand what she had seen.

He was thankful that she was able to go through it. It took a hard toll he could tell. The only thing he could do for her, was to be there, was to be close to her, to provide more substance than this dream.

He hoped that she didn’t feel boxed in, she still have ways to evade him. When she tapped her booted toes against his, he thought that she wanted to have more freedom there. He widened the stance of his feet, and she stretched slightly.

He could feel how warm her legs felt against his, but he concentrated on what she had to relate to him. It was something that would determine their shared time, future even. She had to feel comfortable with what she saw in her dream and in the message it held for her.

To accept this message she needed something that held her steady in the here and now. She wanted him to steady her. He readjusted his leg, moved them over her thighs as he inched closer. Only shortly his brain registered how she spread her legs to give him access to sit between them, how close they sat.

He was much closer, their way to sit much more intimate, but this time it didn’t tighten the coil. There was a warmth that spread, but it was contentment, modest and chaste in its pleasure. Even he felt her body’s heat seep into his gloves he concentrated on how relaxed her breathing was as their helmets rested against each other.

What he could do, something that was possible in their closeness, was to let her hear his natural voice. It would carry through the helmet. Her reaction made him smile at the small victory, she obviously liked what she heard and it made his heart swell. Whenever possible he would let her hear his voice without the modulation of the vocoder.

But he also heard the disappointment when she brought up the topic of her name. He couldn’t bring himself to using it. Names were so rarely used, mostly only in the closest circles, the family. His ultimate wish to make her one of his family made itself hurtfully known.

All he could give her was something he believed she already knew. But once she actually asked him for his name the longstanding conditioning made him tense up. The heavy thumping of his heart was not easy to calm down as he told himself over and over that he did want to share at least that much.

He wanted to hear her say his name as much as he wanted her to hear her name coming from his mouth. Kyrban – he rolled his tongue over the unaccustomed word, making it his own until he drew her reaction, he just had to repeat it once again.

And he made sure that she would never forget how much it meant for him to just call her by her family’s name. How much more would it mean to be able and allowed to use her forename. He longed for that day, but it was not his to set the pace. All he could do was to rein in his desires and be ready when she was.

Hearing her say his name for the first time went through him like a blaster bolt. It was the fulfilment of a dream and a searing pain at the same time. It made his pulse race, it made him shiver and it blurred everything but her figure right in front of his visor.

All of a sudden he became too aware how deeply he had fallen for her. Her fingers felt burning hot on his neck. One tension replaced the next as he felt her warmth edge into his skin, but for nothing in the galaxy he wanted to lose their contact.

He was comfortable, felt at ease, he wanted the time to stop. And it did, at least for them as they sat in silence until dusk drew closer.

He opened his eyes immediately as she addressed him. It was a tentative inquire, a never finished question, but the way her fingers run over his blue visor had him understand at once. A shaky breath made his nostrils flare as he reached up and opened the sealing clatch.

He felt his heart rate increase as he waited for her next move. He had to remind him self repeatedly that this time she had to coax him to bend to her wishes, not that he would resist, but this time it had to be all out of her volition.

He watched in silence as she readied herself. Entranced he watched her undoing her helmet, placing it beside her and gazing at him. When her chest heaved with her inhale he knew that she had come to a decision.

He waited until she had closed her eyes to remove his helmet and to guide her hands back to his neck. He exhaled a smile as her fingers tickled at the back his head and his breath caught as her palm scraped over his scruffy jaws.

When her tug demanded him to lean in he followed her guidance. His nervous smile ghosted over her lips until they met in a soft touch. He closed his eyes as her lips continued their tender exploration.

Following her lead he reduced himself to mere soft reactions. It helped him to keep relaxed to be simply on the receiving part. To feel the curve of her smile against his lips, to feel their softness press against his, to sense her passion as she deepened the kiss.

He could have stayed like this for the rest of the night. But a quiet beep interrupted them. When she stilled he could feel her quickened breath against his chin.

He could feel the reluctance to give up this moment of their own: “Guess our newly-weds want to be picked up.”

When she groaned: “Don’t they have anything better to do, ” he had to chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Har’chaak!: Dammit!  
> Osi’kyr!: Idiomatically Oh, Shit!  
> Wayii!: Good grief! General exclamation of surprise, good or bad.  
> draar: never  
> Gedet’ye: please  
> “Atin utreekov! Stubborn fool, idiot (lit. emptyhead)  
> di’kut: idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)  
> Gaa’tayl!: Help!  
> ner kovid: my head  
> lidye’ri: dizzy  
> aalar dush: I feel bad / sick  
> Vor entye par yir: Thank you for everything  
> shebs: backside, rear, buttocks (also rear of building etc)  
> Gev: Stop it! Pack it in!  
> Beskaryc Kar’ta: Iron heart, Beskar heart


	36. White can heighten the present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living together means getting to know each other better, the settling proceeds but other measurements have to be taken too
> 
> @foxlace thanks for helping me out with you know what ;-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist
> 
> 1) (Dargak: dream, Liom) OST The last of the Mohicans – Promentory https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UUCF8BzuxBI 2) (Thar & Vay) Clannad - Theme from Harry's Game https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zHTcxVjX0I 3) Anilah – warrior https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ru004sZMqjc  
> 4) (Din) DSC - The Mandalorian Guitar Cover https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucLz1RoevfM

Smouldering ruins, the stench of blood and burnt flesh, ear-deafening explosions that shook the ground he stood on, eye-blinding brightness as the laser bolts whipped past him.

A force pivoted him round, a searing pain knocked his leg from under him.

Cover, they needed cover from the next onslaught. Their next turn was a bad decision, a dead end – they would end up dead.

He locked gazes with the red visor of the pearl black helmet next to him: _Darasuum_.

Glaring light, roaring blast, clenching weight.

Greys, browns, red.

He dug himself out of the debris. He stood in the open, no coverage anymore the houses were gone. He stood in the wreckage. He was alone.

Black.

He needed to dig for the black armour. It lay still: _Darasuum_. He was knocked sideways with the next volley of blasts.

Red.

He stumbled over their bodies. The house turned into a death-trap for the villagers, for everyone.

A whimper. A wiggle.

Blue.

A tiny bundle of azure covered in dust and rubble. A dirtied bundle of cloth.

He knew he had to pick it up. He knew he had to take it along with him and up into the azure of the sky.

Black.

He dug, he had to dug more, deeper. He dug into the wreckages until his gloves tore.

Red.

His fingers tore and bled. He pulled her limp form out from the grey turned red. He was alone, he could remove her helmet. Red streaks trailing from her nose down to her cheeks, from her ears down into her cowl.

He was not prepared. His tears smeared the red trails as he kissed her goodbye: _Darasuum_. _Akay vi taab tome tug’yc_.

He woke with a gasp and struggled up. Beads of sweat ran down his temple as he blinked to orientate himself. There was no destruction around him. He was safe, on the cot, in the med bay of the ship. Another pair of salty beads found their way along his nasal wings.

A pair of dark green eyes hovered next to him. He followed the line of the shoulder, ran his eyes along the small arm until he gazed onto the small hand that rested on his chest.

“I don’t like your dream.”

“You what? What do you mean?” It was rare that he did sleep so deeply, that he couldn’t feel the presence of someone else.

“I don’t like your dream.”

“How long have you been there?” But the boy had unceremoniously wriggled himself onto the mattress.

“Heard something, came to look, watched you having a bad dream.”

When the boy tilted his head Dargak got the fleeting impression of being watched by a Convor. When the boy slowly blinked the owl-like impression intensified with the delayed way his lids closed.

“Touched you, but you didn’t wake.”

He rose his eyebrows. This had never ever happened before.

“What did you dream about?”

He looked at his hands, the fingers were unscathed. He reached out and ran a caressing hand over the boy’s back. It probably soothed him more than it did the boy when he rubbed circles on his back: “I dreamt about the day when I found my _ad_.”

“Why does that make you sad?”

“Sad?”

The boy reached up and ran a finger down along the side of his nose, following the wet line.

He had to release his breath before he was able to answer: “Because that is the day when I also lost my _riduur_.”

With a grave nod the boy answered: “My _buir_ also found me when I lost my parents. This is the way.”

His snorted laugh was bitter. He had to pull himself from spitting out what he thought about the way. At that moment he hated the fatalistic phrase of the Nevarro tribe more than ever.

“No, Liom. It’s more like _Kot’parj_. This was the only way I could accept what happened. Only with strength … and my _ad_. You foundlings give us the strength to continue.”

“Do I have to have an _ad_ too, to be that strong?” Somehow the boy seemed to be appalled. And it didn’t really help that right at that moment the youngest of his tribe started wailing in a such a high pitched voice that they both flinched.

“No, Liom. That is not necessary in order to be strong.” He grinned brightly into the relieved face of the boy. “And fortunately not all the foundlings are that young.”

“How old was your _ad_?”

The wailing didn’t subside: “Very young, younger than that little shriek-hawk. Probably only a few weeks.”

“That is good. Then she doesn’t remember her parents.”

He studied the green eyes that had locked with his. Their shiny gloss intensified and when the tear spilled over, he carefully wiped it away with his thumb.

“No, she doesn’t. I’m all the parents she remembers.”

“I miss my parents. Sometimes … when I remember … I can’t see … their faces anymore. I forgot what … the looked like. I’m forgetting …”

He pulled the boy closer and when the small form scuttled onto his lap and into his arms he enwrapped him tightly: “Do you remember their love?”

A soft bobbing of the boy’s head was the only answer he got between the hiccupping sobs.

“As long as you remember their love and say your remembrance you will never truly forget them. _Darasuum_.”

“B-but … wo-won’t I forg-forget …”

“ _Draar_. That’s why we add the names of those who marched on. You add your parents’ name and I add the names of my brother and my wife. They will never be forgotten. Tell me their names and I will add them in my remembrance.”

He was rocking the boy in his embrace and soon found that it had a soothing effect on him as well, not only on the little foundling. It took the boy a time before Dargak was able to hear him babble between his sobs.

“D-deyu, my dad’s … name was Deyu.”

“That is a good name, means ‘preserver of morality’ And your mother?”

“Leka”

“It means ‘defender of men’, did you know that? Tonight I will add their names to those I have lost.”

He kept on his soft rocking motions and already thought that the boy had drifted off into sleep when he heard the tiny voice: “Can we say them together?”

He gave him a soft squeeze which did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest that threatened to spill over. How often had he held and rocked Vayra to console her. It felt like an eternity had passed.

He stilled when the forbidden image of rocking the limp from of Sori invaded his mind. He had to do something before the abyss swallowed him completely: “Yes, we will say them together tonight. But now we will wash our faces and find the others.”

-*-*-*-

She had to feel her way from his neck over his jaws. She felt the scruffiness of the short hair. She leaned forward, meeting him halfway. For the rest she need his seeing eyes to avoid any awkward bumping into him.

She felt him linger until her fingers nudged him to come closer. A short moustache tickled the sensitive skin of her upper lip. She felt his breath brush against her skin and the curl of his lips, but he didn’t close the last fraction of an inch.

She realized that he was waiting for her, that he would neither move nor initiate anything. He wanted her to take the lead, to have the control. He wanted her to be sure of what she was doing.

Her lips brushed his delicately. Just a soft brush as she inhaled the herbal note of the soap he used and scent that was solely him. Another soft butterfly was followed by a more lingering one. Her lips mapped out his, feeling the soft curves and the slightly chapped parts and she smiled when she felt the corner of his lips turn up into a smile.

She felt the warmth of his lips as the moustache slightly grazed against hers. Her thumbs circled along his cheekbone down to his jaw as she leaned in more. His lips responded, parted as her tongue tentatively dipped out and ran along his lower lip. He wanted her to taste him, to deepen her kiss.

An electric wave rushed through her as their tongues met. His soft moan made her shiver and held her breath captive. She pulled him closer as she gave in to her curiosity to explore the heat that lay within.

_BeeP_

She froze, mid-kiss. It was an effort to leave this warmth of their entangled touch. Their quick breaths joined as her lips still lingered on his and she felt the corners of his mouth fall.

“Guess our newly-weds want to be picked up.” The lament was rich in his voice.

She joined his groan and reluctantly settled back: “Don’t they have anything better to do?”

She heard his chuckle and didn’t flinch when she felt his fingertips gently reach for her cheeks. Then he had her completely breathless as he pressed in for a deep, passionate kiss. It was short and heated. A promise and a desire. A flash in which the blinding truth hit her. She wanted to feel this kind of kiss again. She wanted to kiss him like that and be kissed by him like that.

It couldn’t be helped, the sealing hiss of his helmet told her that much. She blinked several times when she opened her eyes. With a sigh she reached for her own helmet and handed it to Tern: “I contact them, you can start collecting those stones.”

She searched the pockets of her utility-belt. Of course the com-link was in the last one. By the time she pulled it out, it gave a second beep. With a sigh she activated it: “ _Su'cuy_.”

She still felt breathless and was glad that it was Tern’s sister who answered her. She wouldn’t have liked to put up with a lewd comment from Walking Wall.

“ _Su’cuy_. Umm … Is everything okay on your side? Hope we don’t disturb. But … umm … is it ok to ask if you could pick us up again?”

She had to laugh. His sister’s curiosity was seeping through her words, her snigger was barely covered and yet she sounded really hesitant: “No worries, we can get you in a short time. Meet us where we dropped you off.”

After she had pocketed the device she helped Tern to fill her helmet with the exquisite green stones she could find. They were already on their way back to the shuttle when he suddenly slipped his hand into the crook of her arm. A quick glance told her that he was feeling the symptoms of his blood loss again.

“Can you make it to the shuttle? I could bring it closer.”

His nod was strained, but he was determined to make it on his own feet. In the end she had to drag him into the co-pilot’s seat where he sat down with a tired groan telling of his relief.

“Don’t feel safe Tern. Your sister and I will have a talk about that.”

His groan sounded only half amused, she could hear that he was annoyed: “Do you have to put me through _that_?” It made her wonder what his experiences with the healer were.

She smirked and wiggled her eyebrows at him before she clutched the dented cheeks parts of his helmet to turn his visor towards her: “For what _I_ intend to put you through I need _all_ of your stamina.”

“Oh…” Although she couldn’t see his face she knew that she had successfully short-circuited his brain.

-*-*-*-

The box was only insignificantly lighter. Now he knew where the weight had come from. With the food and drinks gone, the medkit and the gun, safely wrapped up again in the oilcloth, shifted in the box, when he had to tilt the container.

“Our tribe doesn’t have the means to achieve something that valuable, let alone two things that costly.” He didn’t get much of a response from Tulata, so he rambled on, worked himself up in an impotent lingering anger at what he felt was a debt he wouldn’t be able to repay.

“I bet that was all her idea. That or that kriffin’ Zabrak’s. Bet they were both in together. And your bother, too”

All of a sudden he was confronted with Tulata facing him: “ _Meg but’gar_?”

“ _Entye_.” He would only admit to her, begrudgingly and quietly.

“There is no debt. It was a gift. A very considerate one, given that she doesn’t know us at all. Or have you mentioned your secret desire or needs to her?”

He could only shake his head. He had to give it to her, the pilot had found exactly what he had eyed for quite some time. But it was hard to come by, either pry it off a dead troopers hands – and there were always too many to do that – or the black market – neither a place where he could pick leisurely.

“And don’t worry, there will be a time when we can even this _debt_. Hopefully soon.” The knowing giggle had his attention.

“You know something I don’t? Did they say anything when you contacted them?” Reading into other’s emotion had never been an easy task for him and many even thought him incapable. And with someone who hadn’t been a part of the covert he felt even more at a loss.

What he had got was the unsettled nervousness that their younger hunter radiated. What he had experienced was how the pilot had come undone and broke down. But the more he thought about it while they were making their way along the tunnel the more he understood the extent of it.

It had been right under his Beskar covered nose, still he trusted his _riduur_ more than his own limited instinct when it came to things like that: “That’s why you wanted to give them more time … since when have you known that there is something going on?”

“Ever since she stuck this wicked vamblade into him. First thing when he woke, back in the covert on Nevarro, was to inquire about her. That is how I knew, even though he might not have known himself yet.”

His brain trailed back. He remembered Tharam’s entangled and twisted form at the end of the staircase. All he had registered back then, was that another of their hunters had been brought down and was lying in his blood at his feet.

His brain had shut down to one single thought and hadn’t registered the hoarse plea which was addressed at him – _Morut’yc kaysh_! He chuckled grimly – _love at first stab_ – how befitting of a Mandalorian.

When they stopped outside to wait for the arrival of the shuttle he had had enough time to process everything: “So when do we need wedding presents for them?”

The way she looked up at him and titled her head with a low chuckled made him wish they could be back in that lovely hidden paradise.

“I fear it is more complicated for them. The different ways to follow the Creed, her past. But if I recall her breathless state I might wager that they did make a progress and that I was disturbing them somewhat.”

When the shuttle finally landed to pick them up, his eyes searched the lone, helmetless figure standing at the ramp. Her smile was hesitant and a flush slowly crept into her cheeks. His _riduur_ had been right. Something had gone on.

But he was missing his hunter: “Where is he?” He instantly regretted his harshness when the smile dropped and her eyes angrily flashed at him.

“Inside.” She didn’t have to nod towards the cockpit as the taller green-blue warrior chose to appeare next to her at that moment. He was steading himself at the frame of the hatch, but then his hand slipped onto her pauldron as he loomed behind her.

“ _Su’cuy_.”

He just nodded to answer the younger man. He caught on the tiredness in the his voice and stance, but there was something else. He imagined that Tharam had overheard him, at least that would explain the possessive stance. But there was something else, a protectiveness he had never seen the hunter express before.

“Just wondered if you were still playing prey for that little pet of yours.” He grunted amusedly as he was elbowed by Tulata. It was hard enough to make his muscles flex under the padding.

At least he was able to ease Tharam enough to make him snort: “No, this time it didn’t think any part of me to be the food. And we have been busy otherwise.”

His breath caught, he definitely didn’t want to know anything about their afternoon activities and remembering his own had his ears on fire. But as Tharam produced the helmet filled with bright green stones, he stared: “What is that?”

Her voice was guarded: “Your way to sustain yourself. There might be a time when the Sundari are in no need of meat.” She had crossed her arms and shifted her weight to lean back against Tharam

Another nudge to his ribs made him clear his throat: “ _Vo-Vor entye. Par yir_.” He was not good at that, not at all, not when he could see the quickly rising eyebrow and knowing smile that crept back into the pilot’s face.

“I take it that everything has been arranged to your satisfaction?” Her smirk widened as she lowered her head a fraction. Her stare reminded him of the Boetay eyeing its prey. It was predatory and dared him to contradict her.

He was saved by Tulata stepping up to Vayra and hugging her in a tight embrace. At least he had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen in astonishment, even if only for the duration of a blink. Tharam was the next to endure her hug. He knew she had conferred something to her brother privately when he inclined his head.

The flight back was all women-talk. He marvelled on the effect the presence of the pilot had on Tulata. She was expressive with him, but with the woman the topics varied even more. He was astonished that the woman from Ossus had an ever broader knowledge about herbs than Tulata, and that was already impressive.

When he heard them discussing about gathering more plants he grew edgy. When Vayra brought up seeing the old Sundari she had met, he put his foot down: “Not without me, or another warrior.”

It earned him a calculated gaze from the pilot-seat and a challenge: “Seems I have to finally prove my worth to you, Walking Wall.”

“What!?” Tharam’s helmet came up with a surprising speed. He had been lying on the seats in the hull with his head rested in his sister’s lap.

“Ha-mmpfft. ” Tulata made a strangled noise as she made the laugh die before it could leave her voice cords.

He started to growl, then is brain caught up: “Walking what? Wall? Have you just called me … ”

“Uh-hu. Walls can be torn down, you know. You won’t get me with that hook again. When we are back, you will be up for a sparring. After all, you still want to thank me in your own way for what is in the box, don’t you?”

He heard more protests and laughter from the hull, but he pushed them aside as he started to catalogue the woman in the pearl black armour. The glances she cast him sideways and the wry smile made him look even more critically.

He leaned back in his seat. He hadn’t seen her fight with Tharam, he had only heard vaguely of her fight on Ossus. Both times he had encountered her, he had her subdued quickly, but both times she had not been her true self.

But he had fought the Zabrak. And very likely he had taught her. Slowly he felt the anticipation rise, and of course he did remember his _riduur’s_ words of warning.

When they stepped off the shuttle Tulata elbowed him again as she whispered: “Told you.”

-*-*-*-

He heard his sister’s voice as she asked to be picked up. At the quick thought of her finally being wed to the man she loved he looked at the woman he loved. He kept the quiet, yearning sigh to himself as he swept up the gemstones.

So much had already happened today. She had shared something very personal, had let him participate in something only she had experienced.

She had opened to him in more than one way, with her mind and with her body. Her seeking his embrace, starting the caressing and initiating their kiss made him wish he could turn back time. His tongue ran over his lips, remembering how she had felt on and in him.

She caught him staring as he wondered what it would be like to see her eyes when they kissed. The leather of his gloves creaked as he rolled his fingers into a fist. He was counting the hours until they would have time for each other again.

This time he made himself known when he felt the incoming light-headedness, but he could and would endure it to the shuttle. He knew that he would have to ask his sister for help He had to get a head start, her – Kryban’s threat was anything but empty. And both women on his heels to improve his health was a bit much for his taste.

He was just about to tell her that he had accepted the necessity to do so, when she caught him completely offhand, short-circuited his brain and the only lonely little cell left stumbled repeatedly over single words that made it past the haze – _I … put through … your stamina_.

Even when one or the other cell activated itself again, he was less than coherent besides a single syllable, too much energy was used for trying to make the searing coil in his innards untangle and for the film playing in his head.

When he woke up he felt the shuttle landing, they were picking up Paz and Tulata. And it was the first he heard growl, a sound that he didn’t like, one that made him rise and stand next to his woman.

 _His_ woman – he knew she could stand up for herself. But the same way as Paz had placed himself subconsciously next to his wife he was placing himself next to _his_ woman. His smile became a wide grin when he felt her lean back against him. Despite the protective plates he could feel her body against his – oh how much he would have loved to sneak his arms around her to hold her even closer.

He only listened with half an ear as he watched his sister. Imagining the pure joy she must radiate under her helmet spread a comforting warmth in his chest. When she hugged him he quickly changed to private com to give her his best wishes.

That she knew about them had him not surprised, but he didn’t want to reveal too much and thus he answered her question, if their afternoon had been pleasurable only with a soft nod. On the flight back to the ship she pried more, but he was just content to rest. His answers were mostly grunts or chuckles, depending on what was less embarrassing.

He had almost drifted off again over the women talking about plants when her punched words made it past his helmet – _Walking Wall_. He was flabbergasted at both, her fearlessness and the snort from his sister. He squeezed Tulata’s calf until she admitted having known about the nickname.

He grumbled, but there was not much he could do to prevent the sparring, though he pondered talking to her and to Paz, to reason with them. But two stubborn warriors, he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

-*-*-*-

He had spent the whole day with the Rulls and the foundlings of their tribe. They had been more than busy starting their little covert in the chosen cave. It was spacious enough. There were more than enough cul-de-sacs ending in grottos which fit to serve as private rooms, lager cavernous spaces fit for storages, an infirmary, a room for the foundlings, a _karyai_ and the furtherst space could even serve as a training area. It was long enough to serve as a shooting range and as it had an almost a pit-like part, other kinds of training could be held there too.

The Rulls had wanted to wait for all to decide, before they occupied any of the smaller caves for their private quarters. So arranging the foundling’s room and the common room was the first they concentrated on.

When he examined the future rooms he decided that more would be needed to make the tribe feel comfortable and at home. Many things could be constructed by themselves, but some other things would have to acquired.

As night hadn’t drawn in yet, he decided to use the time to put his contacts to use. Not only the new covert would need things, some of the provisions needed restocking and also the ship and the shuttle needed a refill.

On his way back to the ship he had more than once looked around and listened. He hoped that this time no one would be hurt when they got back. It seemed that every time they left one came back hurt in one or the other way.

He ventured to the cockpit and locked the door. For once he did not want the company of the green-eyed boy who had chosen to become his constant shadow. Although he felt honoured and flattered, what he had in mind to do was nothing he wanted the boy to witness.

There was one anonymous request for help, but the job was low-paid, kept vaguely and sounded fishy. A ship would be required as the coordinates were placed on an outpost somewhere in space. Likely pirates. He discarded it.

Another offer caught his attention. Jomark was in reachable distance. The bounty, commissioned by the colonists, was not too high, but would pay for more than just the trip there and the filling of the tanks. He contacted the man, who introduced himself as Toban Barneto from Kalish, and fixed the deal.

The little planet was mostly covered by saltwater and besides a huge number of small islands only one small continent made it habitable by humanoid standards. Jormark’s peaceful population mostly lived by fishing and sea farming. He quickly calculated what the job would involve

He was about to shut the device off when it started to blink rapidly: “Come in.”

“Kryban is that really you?”

“Positive.”

The holo flickered wildly as the dark skinned man shook with laughter: “That was the only affirmation I needed to know. It is really you. It’s been ages, thought they got you. …”

Dargak didn’t really pay attention to the ramblings about the good old times. His answers were kept short, there was only one thing that really interested him: “Have you got a job for me?”

“Coming right to the point, I see. As a matter of fact yes, there is something you specialized in, pest-control on Myrkr. Interested?”

“Positive. Send me the intel, then I tell you.”

The man tsk-ed several times: “You know that is not how I work. Take it or leave it.”

He cursed inwardly. Too often this had led to almost-disasters: “How long will the offer stand? Have to consult first.”

More flickering of the projection: “Does your wifey keep you on a short leash?”

“Negative. She’s dead.”

The holo froze: “ … Sorry. … I can put it on hold for a day, then I need your answer.”

“I’ll contact you.” He shut the com quickly off and left the cockpit. Back outside the ship he finally set himself to the task of tending to the dried skin. He had different things in mind he wanted to use it for. It was the pouch he started first on.

When his daughter and the three member of the Nevarro tribe finally arrived it was already dark. The others had retreated to the common room while he was still sitting in the light of the lowered ramp. He didn’t need much light to do the carving he had started once it had got too dark to work on the skin. He knew by heart to carve the little figures.

The tribe members went into the ship. It was just an indistinct flick of his hand holding the knife, but Vayra caught it and sat next to him.

“Seems that no one needs to be carried to the med bay .. everything went well.”

She made a face at him: “Yap, even more so. Found something to help them onto their feet.”

He whistled at the sight of the filled helmet: “That’s worth some credits. Maybe I should have waited …”

“What do you mean?”

“Made a contact and a contract. Thought we could use some credits. Jomark, colonists set a bounty. Not too high, but would pay off for more than just the trip.” He tried to sound nonchalant, to keep the excitement out of his voice.

Too late he realised his mistake, she wasn’t used to having plans made for her. First she grumbled incoherently, then she started pacing up and down. When she pivoted quickly towards him, he expected her to say something, but only her mouth worked.

With a set jaw she started pacing again until she finally stood square in front of him with her arms crossed: “Fine. What is it about and when do we start?”

He chuckled and handed her the information he had been given: “Small band of raiders, but too many and too well equipped to deal with them themselves. Their search of the perimeters were unsuccessful and they suspect that they might have a ship to back them up.”

“So what is it? Pick anything off out of the orbit and then do some island-hopping?” She was annoyed and the way she saw it, he could see the disadvantages of their coming hunt.

“Or lay in wait and pick them off then.” He watched her eyes flicker for a brief second.

“Might take some time.”

He nodded: “But saves us the hopping.” He tried to guess what else had her reluctant, then he added: “He could come with us.”

He had never seen that look in her eyes. Understanding, bewilderment, scorn and even a hint of fear. Her answer was curt: “No.”

-*-*-*-

Of course she had seen that Tharam did not feel well. She had argued with him, but he had been stubborn. She knew he had plans of his own which did involve Vayra and she couldn’t really blame him for what he wanted – time alone with her.

But seeing him steadying himself in the frame of the hatch, lying down fatigued and resting on her lap, like he hadn’t done in decades – she made sure that he would show up in the med bay for a check-up. In the meanwhile she made a list to ease the effects he was suffering.

When she heard of the old Sundari woman and her presumably wide knowledge of the local plants she had agreed immediately, enthusiastically even. It was a good idea, to let the people get acquainted to them gradually and showing that there were also women in their ranks would make them look less hostile.

The punch she wanted to give Paz for his interference would have been hard enough to make even him wince, but he was in the cockpit, too far away from her. His sense of protectiveness was honourable and adorable. But she was capable herself, and she wouldn’t have been alone.

Back at the ship she pulled her brother with her, she didn’t give him any chance to disappear. Pushing him more or less into the med bay, she locked the door behind them. She slowly peeled her gloves off and took off her helmet.

“Come on, take it off.” She had to tap her foot to convey her impatience until he relented and reached to the release-clasp.

He was pale, paler than she had ever seen him, when she touched his face his skin felt cold and still sweaty. She helped him out of his gloves, his hands were icy and instinctively he reached for her much warmer ones. She started rubbing first one then the other between her hands.

“You have to take better care of yourself.”

“Hmm, ya ...”

“You will exactly do what I tell you the next days.”

“Hmmmpf, ya …”

“I’m going to prepare something that should help with possible nausea.”

“Pfffmmm, t’late.”

She gave him a sharp look: “When?”

“This afternoon.”

She rubbed a hand over her brows and shook head: “You hadn’t been worse when you had been a teen.”

“Hmmpfff not true.”

She took hold of his chin and made him look up to her: “May I remind you.” When he questioningly rose a brow she stabbed him into his right loin with her other hand.

“It could have killed you! The medics said that it had been about to burst and then it would have been too late. Just because of your stubbornness!”

“Didn’t know better then.”

“You still do not know any better! Listen to me or I’ll release Vary onto you.”

“You also want to put me through that? Why do you women always have the same ideas?” She had to suppress a laugh at his groaned answer and the way he threw back his head. His groan a plea to the gods above.

“Do you think any deities will help you answering that question?!” She smirked at his dumbfounded expression.

When he tried the sulking look on her she punched softly against the chest: “We all want you in one piece and especially she. So what did she say she wants to put you through?”

“Didn’t say what, just that she needed all my sta ….” His teeth clacked as clapped his mouth shut.

Keeping serious at the suddenly rising blush and expression that dawned on him, was absolutely impossible. She didn’t want to snub him further and hugged him tightly: “Thar’ika. I’m happy .. for you.”

When she pulled away from him she was much more serious: “Thar, you haven’t seen what she went through when we found you in that room of yours. She was completely beside herself. You can’t put her through that again.”

When his brows knitted and he just quietly nodded she knew how guilty he felt. She caught his sagging head and made him look up at her again: “Make sure she knows how much you love her. Let her see it in actions and in words. Do not waste time, like … like Paz and I did.”

She smiled encouragingly before she turned and rummaged in the drawer, Vayra had pointed her to. When she turned with the loaded syringe she saw his eyes widen. His growl was a groan, or was it the other way round?

Her smile was sweet: “You brought this onto yourself.”

-*-*-*-

He had come out Tatooine with nothing. Every credit he had taken from the young wanna-be bounty hunter he had given to Peli. She had earned it. His ship was working properly again and the tank was refilled, but his pouch was empty. He needed a job and he had a bad idea. Calling Ran was definitely a bad idea.

He hoped that for once that the little womp rat understood the urgency to stay hidden. Because meeting up with Ran meant meeting up with an old acquaintance he wanted to keep forgotten. Mayfeld – a former Imp who made his skin crawl – and Burg, the huge Devaronian – muscles and nothing else – was one thing. Rabid Xi’an and a too smart droid was something completely different. But he needed the credits Ran had promised.

His hope that she might have changed – as he had – finally growing out of post-adolescent behaviourisms, was demolished the moment he heard her sneer, saw her fiendish grin and the flicker of one of her beloved knives. He reminded himself of the credits.

All he could do was seethe beneath his helmet, at anything they threw at him. Xi’an’s insinuations of intimacy, the droid’s criticism of his ship and then Burg’s intrusion in his private lockers. Not a minute passed where he didn’t tell him to keep calm, to let everything bounce off him – he needed the credits.

Then things got even worse when the tiny compartment was opened and its secret spilled. Of course it led to more remarks from the poisonous tongue of the Twi’lek, and Mayfeld wasn’t any better – the credits which he needed.

Target practice – how much he wanted to turn them into that right now. But putting his little foundling out of harm’s way was his first target now – credits were more important.

A New Republic’s prisonship was their target – unmanned – they had said. Unmanned but not without droids. That brainless Devaronian had to shoot the little mouse droid, but when it came to the four patrol droids the three idiots were none the wiser – maybe they were nothing better than targets.

He knew they were looking for him, thought he had abandoned them. They wanted to see him in action, he would give them a show. At least that way he could get rid of some of the coiling rage they had built up in him – get the job done, get the credits, get out.

The droids were a great outlet for his pent up anger. Of course he hadn’t expected any praise, but if Mayfeld thought that the look he exchanged with Xi’an had gone unseen by him, he was wrong.

 _Yes, Mayfeld, Mandalorians are the greatest warriors in the galaxy. Yes, Xi’an, things have changed, I have changed and progressed. Who has honed their skills better_?

Qin – he should have known it. Why hadn’t he wondered where her brother was right at the moment that Xi’an appeared. He didn’t know what made him more angry, that he hadn’t asked himself this question, that they had taken him by surprise, or that he was sitting in Qin’s position now.

He knew – at kriffin’ everything. The crew, the prisonship, the droids, the useless death of the only human on board and – just everything.

The next round of patrol droids were his ticket out of the cell, the next steps led him back to the control room. The next step was separating them, taking them out one by one.

Taking Burg out was physically exhausting and made him hurt in more places than he could count. Taking Xi’an out was – with each of her knives flying in his direction it became clearer and clearer – emotionally satisfying. Taking Mayfeld out was entertaining in the way the Imp turned it into a cat and mouse game – he loved being the hunter. Taking out Qin was business – he was walking credits.

He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but seeing the droid standing in front of the opened compartment where his foundling was hidden peaked his rage to unknown heights. Only when he saw the cluster of wires go down with a smouldering hole, revealing the little one unharmed he allowed himself to relax, to breathe again and to uncoil.

For once he felt satisfaction – no questions asked – the quarry delivered and the three in the prisonship in the cell they had him confined to. His smile was wide, but grim. He knew Ran was a back-stabbing arse, but he had seen to it that it would be the very last day of this bastard, and of Quin.

His grin was feral as he passed the three small patrol ships of the New Republic. For once they were good for something. He didn’t have to see it to know what was going to happen. The stars turned into streaks as he activated the hyperdrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darasuum: forever/eternally  
> Akay vi taab tome tug’yc: Until we march together again.  
> ad: child, son, daughter  
> Riduur: husband / wife, spouse  
> buir: parent, father, mother  
> Kot’parj: strength wins  
> draar: never  
> Su'cuy: Hi  
> Meg but’gar?: What angers you?  
> Entye: debt  
> Morut’yc kaysh! Safe her  
> Vor entye. Par yir: Thank you. For everything  
> Karyai: common room; main living room of a traditional north Mandalorian house - a single big chamber for eating, talking, resting, and even the last secure stronghold when under attack


	37. Black is justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first job together and then another first together 
> 
> sorry, not sorry, got carried away with them enjoying their time ;-) so.. smut warning at the end of the chapter
> 
> I hid two references to other films/series whoever finds them is a genius :-), I'd love to hear in a comment if you, dear reader, have found them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist  
> 1)on Garos: Dzivia – heart of the forest https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ayP1AEVxJbc  
> 2) on Jormark: Grai - In Mara's arms https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9vLupooVhsc&list=RD9vLupooVhsc&start_radio=1&t=97  
> 3) rescue: Brand X Music - Legion https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UiZjJuXq5xE  
> 4) a night in the hut: Eternal Eclipse (Ft. Merethe Soltvedt) - IT WILL ALWAYS BE YOU https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S6L6M93vTDE

Mealtimes were still strange. The members of the Nevarro tribe would retreat to their private quarters. A small change was that Tulata followed Paz instead of her brother to share her meal with him, but Tern still stayed in his room. The younglings had chosen to enjoy her and her father’s company instead of spending their time in their own compartment.

Lively conversations were going on and the lounge area was filled with their laughter. More than once she had to divert curious questions about where they had been and what they had been doing. She saw the glances her father sent her way and how he grinned when a particular question made her avoid it sheepishly.

But she knew how to get even with him. When the younglings had retreated she helped him cleaning the kitchen area: “You’ve got an admirer.”

She winked at him with a grin and a wiggle of her brows that caught his attention: “I know. Liom. He became my shadow.” It was an almost happy sigh that his answer drew from him.

“Nope, not Liom.” She cackled, he had been oblivious.

“No? Who then.” He gazed back towards the lounge area, retracing the sitting order, mentally taking stock and eliminating unlikely options.

When he locked back at her, she knew that he was none the wiser and made it easy for him: “The lanky girl with blonde hair.”

He was perplexed: “What? She’s barely … hasn’t even taken the creed. That’s absurd, appalling even!”

She laughed as he worked himself up: “It’s not my fault that you are an attractive man. And she is turning into a woman.”

“… outrageous … still a child … should pick one her age …”

She chuckled on as he rummaged around, wrapped up in his incredulity: “Not like there is much to pick from.”

“NARGH! _Ne’johaa_!” He had her laughing at the top of her voice.

“What do today’s younglings think! Do I have to wear my helmet all the time now, just to keep her from ogling me!?” Her sides hurt from laughing. The raging fit that had her father gesticulate wildly was too comical to observe.

She was barely able to talk through her giggles and snorts, only sobering up slightly at the idea that slowly crept into her mind: “If you think that helps, … or … I could take her to the farm with me on one of my next trips there. But I’m not sure what her _vode_ would think about that.”

He was entertaining the same thoughts as she did, then he shook his head: “They are _aruetii_.”

“Pity. The youngest is quite intrigued and might make a good _verd_.”

After completing their task in silence they sat in the lounge and discussed their trip to Jormark. It was when he suddenly went completely silent and didn’t look at her that a suspicion rose in her: “What else is there?”

He was quiet in his admission that he could accept a hunt on Myrkr. He didn’t know much about it, just that it was pest control and that he had to accept the contract to learn more about it.

She shifted on her seat. She knew the politics, but that didn’t mean she had to like them. And something else made her want to decline the offer. But the way the Zabrak looked at her, told her that he not only wanted to do it, but that he had also caught up on her reluctance.

She wondered if he would take the job without her, but how would he get there. As he would need her as pilot anyway, she could also participate in that job. She just had to make sure to keep away from him what made her shy away from the planet: “Okay ... I’m in ... Inform … your contact.”

“What is it?” She instantly froze and everything in her seemed to turn into ice. She hated how observant he was. All the years apart had not lessened the way he could read her.

“The place … the one that Denx had found … it was on Myrkr.”

The silence that fell between them was heavy. She couldn’t look at him, not the way he looked at her. If she wanted to be able to keep her composure without cracking her teeth with how she clenched them together, she had to avoid looking at him.

She tried to work her jaws loose and stared straight on. But her brain was only able to form this one word – _Myrkr_ – and with it everything that it meant was displayed before her inner eye – the place _he_ had found for them, _his_ pyre.

Only when she didn’t seem to get any air into her lungs, only when her scarf felt wet where it hugged her neck, only then she gave in to the soft pulling sensation against her shoulder, only then she started to curl against her _buir_ and buried her head between his shoulder and neck.

“You remember what I said to you … I still think … in order to … give _him_ a chance, to go on with _him_ , … you have to leave behind your past. Denx wanted to settle on Myrkr, … make it the place were you give _all_ of him the rest he deserves … he and the others.”

Her vision was dull with the fast-paced hammering thuds that resonated in her head. Her violently shivering hand refused any control she tried to regain. – _Through serenity you gain strength._

It hurt, it hurt to even imagine what her father had implied.

 _He is right._ _Through victory you gain harmony._ – She knew he was right. It unsettled her and her mind didn’t grasp the drop of ease that started to settle much deeper down within her. When he went into the cockpit, she sat contemplating. When she rose, she still wasn’t sure if she would be able to follow his plans through. Nevertheless she followed her father.

-*-*-*-

He heard them talking about the jobs, his hands involuntarily twitched. His first duty was towards the tribe, but a hunt he could participate in would also help the tribe. He would have to talk to Paz about it. But it dimmed on him that the _we_ he had heard might not have him included, it was highly unlikely even. There was only one way to find out.

Be he wanted to try and to be prepared. He started arranging not only his gear, but also the arguments he could use to convince Paz, her and her father. From the latter he expected less resistance than from her. His mouth twitched into a humourless smile at the slivers of protectiveness he had experienced from her. Not only she harboured this sentiment.

Quiet voices made it through the closed door into his quarters, a quiet murmur he couldn’t decipher. Only when it had got completely quiet he opened the door to find the lounge area empty, but he knew where to find them.

He made himself known, stepping heavier than normally, as he walked towards the cockpit. The holo was just flickering into life as both heads turned towards him. The Zabrak’s attention was quickly averted again, engaged in the conversation. She was continuing to eye him with a questioning look which made him shuffle his feet to adjust his stance.

“Kryban. That was fast. How did your consulting go?”

His eyes flickered from the holo to the sitting Zabrak. The man knew his name, the men knew each other from the past.

“Positive.”

The man’s laughter was deep, but halted abruptly. His gaze shifted from the Zabrak to his daughter and to him. The squint of the man’s eyes told him that they could be vaguely made out on the other side of the holo: “Don’t tell me that’s …”

He tensed, the man in the holo had recognized him for what he was. The Kraybans were wearing their cloaks, but his armour was too identifiable.

“ ... We want the job.” Dargak was quick to interrupt.

The way his contact’s eyes had flickered over to him several times had him made him cringe.

“As always, no questions asked.” The Zabrak was all business, and sounded harder than he had ever heard him.

“Yeah, your choice who you run with. But she is …”

The cautious insinuation was too rich to be overheard and made him bare his teeth. What his mind stumbled over, was what the man had wanted to say about _her_.

“ … Exactly. You said, it’s pest-control, I got a hunter. End of story.” The Zabrak was too quick to interrupt him.

“Okay, okay. I send you the information you need. By the way, there is no fob, so no need to show up here.”

His mind tried to take in the information of the missing fob.

“Appreciated. Is there a time frame?” The Zabrak didn’t even stumble over the missing of a fob.

“Not really, can you make it there within a week?”

“Positive.”

The chuckle that came from the man was more relaxed: “You know, I really missed you and your curt answers. How long has it been …”

He paid more attention. Without having to ask he could get more information about her family.

“ … thirty years, if you don’t count in the few times in between.”

If he hadn’t stood next to the man, he would have completely missed the drop of his voice.

“Yeah, there was a time when you stopped showing up completely and after that only scarcely.”

He slowly did his calculation. If it was correct then the Zabrak had worked with his contact before he had found his daughter. He had taken no jobs in the first time and later only to make the ends meet.

“Information received. Stay safe.”

“You too, Kryban … and your _company_.”

He heard the stressed word. Again an insinuation, but what was the man referring to exactly?

-*-*-*-

He turned in his seat and watched both closely. The sudden appearance of Tharam Tern hadn’t been taken into account. Although the holo had called for his attention it hadn’t gone unnoticed how Vayra had tensed up.

Both still young enough to be hot-blooded and impulsive. He knew that his daughter could have the temper of a wounded Wampa, the hunter seemed to be more on the seething side when it came to anger management. When both clashed he did only want to be a bystander.

And that was what he was right now. He would listen, watch and learn. He reclined in the pilot’s seat, crossed his arms behind his neck and threw up his legs to rest them on the board before him. Her plans were spilled, how would she explain them, he was not going to help her out of this situation.

“What are you doing here?” – She was a coil ready to spring.

“Heard you, thought I’d have a look.” – His guarded voice couldn’t fool him.

“We were just fixing a job.” – She was trying to avert a discussion, that was new to him.

“I just have to inform … the _al’verde_ , but I’m all in.” – He couldn’t hide his enthusiasm.

“No, you are not. Have you seen how that guy had reacted to you? … You won’t expose yourself and the tribe like that.” – There was her protectiveness again.

“Have you seen how he reacted to you? … And. He wanted to say something about you.. not me.” – He was trying the ‘best defence is offence’ – tactic.

“That is not important. I don’t have a tribe to protect.” – Her counter was grave.

“It _is_ important and I have to _sustain_ a tribe.” – A very valid argument. Was this already check?

“You found the gemstones.” – No, the point went to her. Obviously, as the brave was quiet for some time, deciding his course of action.

“I … don’t want … you to leave … without me. I want to spend all the time I can with you. Tulata said something wise: _do not waste time_. Being apart would be wasting time. Thus I will come with you.” He had started slowly, just to pick up pace and become more and more confident in his statement.

Check and mate. He knew that she knew by the way her mouth worked without any syllable passing her lips. Quietly he rose and bent to whisper in her ear: “He is right … and you know it.”

To the warrior he nodded: “I will ask your _al’verde_.

He left and activated the closing mechanism of the door to the cockpit to give them some privacy. Finding the heavy infantry was easy, he just had to find the healer. That was what he thought, but they weren’t on the ship, not in the med bay, not in their compartment. He went outside, no one was there either. He rounded the ship once, then he saw them all. They were coming back from their cave.

“Can we talk?” He had intercepted the other heavy man, who only grunted. He chuckled at the prod the healer gave him with her hips and at her words: “Play nice!”

He didn’t totter about, he went right to the point and with his _riduur_ next to his side the heavy infantry actually didn’t have much to say to object the wishes of his _beroya_. Grudgingly the _al’verde_ agreed. When everything had been transferred to the cave they would leave.

It was a spontaneous decision when he offered to ask Vayra to leave the speeder bike with the clan. His argumentation that three didn’t fit on it anyway had made her agree in the end.

-*-*-*-

Before they left, they had seen to it that the remaining tribe members didn’t lack anything. The healer had even made sure that the spaces in the cave had been assigned, that everyone had an area to retreat to. She proudly called them already the private chambers.

She had kept back, she didn’t have any intentions of claiming anything for herself. But she hadn’t taken Tulata into consideration. First she argued with the healer about the rather large grotto that Tern’s sister had picked for her, then she had given in and no longer wondered at the stubbornness that seemed to run in the family.

When the green-blue warrior entered he was completely unaware of what had gone on. She heard Tulata direct her brother to put his things in this very grotto she had just left. She went into a coughing fit. What did the woman think how far they had already progressed – she was definitely not going to discuss that at that moment, or at any.

She was thankful that he didn’t seem to have any idea what his sister had arranged. When he placed the container with his belongings she made a face at Tulata. She made sure the healer saw clearly the quick movement her finger made across her throat. They would have to talk about this match-making tendency she had. Then she turned and went to the ship.

She waited in the cockpit for the signal to leave the planet. Quietly she was tapping an impatient rhythm with her boot, it almost matched the beating of her heart. Her fingers thrummed in quick succession on the armrest.

_It is not his fault – he doesn’t know anything – it is sister’s vile plan – he doesn’t have anything to do with it._

The more she thought about the place she had to share, the more complicated things got in her mind. She tried to list up the things and adjustments that would have to be made in case they actually did stay there together.

 _Together_ – was there really a need for the two beds she had stored in her mental list?

Swallowing seemed to have become difficult as she remembered that they had shared one bed already, twice even. But it had been awkward, at least when waking up, so yes, definitely two beds. But it had also felt nice to feel his warm body next to hers, to be enwrapped in his arms, to feel his breaths and to hear the beat of his heart.

How would it feel to feel him even closer, intimately, in her? Remembering how his pulse had accelerated, how he had reacted to her, increased her pulse. She tried to breathe around the tight feeling that spread from her middle to her throat and to her abdomen.

“Everything is ready. We can leave now.” The quiet droning of his voice reached her ears.

She froze and felt a heat creeping up her ears. She had been so in thought that she hadn’t heard him approaching. Quickly she reached out to the controls engaging the engines.

“Where … where is Dargak?”

“Common area. He sent me here.”

“Umm. Okay. Sit and fasten the belt.”

His movements showed that he was used to it. Everything spoke of a proficiency which she had to admire. She wished for her helmet, which sat on the ground next to her, as she stole a glance along his folded legs. When he tilted his helmet at her, she knew that he had caught her.

She decided for a quick hyper-jump. Somehow thinking about spending a longer time next to him had her adjusting her position in her seat several times.

“You feeling okay?”

He was observant. Too observant for her taste: “Yeah. Why?”

He made an overall gesture at her: “Way you sit, you don’t seem to find a comfortable position … Plus …”

She looked at him to make him continue: “… Plus … increased temperature and heartrate.”

“What are you …? Have you got medscans in there? Are you using them on me?”

He unfolded his long legs and slipped to the front of the seat: “Couldn’t be helped. It flared up.”

She shook her head several times as she tried to understand: “Are you telling me you have synchronised …”

“Yes, yours and Dargak’s. He did, too, and asked me to do it. Only yours is missing.” He slowly reached for her helmet and turned it slowly in his hands.

Her gasp was breathless: “No.”

She had worked alone for so long by now, she had got used to many things, missing only a few others. But there were also so many things didn’t miss. Hearing other people’s last moments in her HUD was one of them. She didn’t want to experience this anymore. If the systems of their helmets were synchronised she would … no, she couldn’t.

His whole body reacted to her rejection, it asked for an explanation, it pleaded for acceptance. The leather of his gloves creaked as his grip tightened. His back had become rigid, he was sitting completely straight as his helmet’s visor stared relentlessly at her.

“I can’t. When I remember … their voices … it is these last moments … when they … I don’t want to … to hear anyone dying … either of you.”

He held out his hands and when she didn’t react he reached forward prying her right off the armrest she was clutching. With one hand he held hers, with the other she felt his thumb rubbing over the back of her hand. A wide circle, a circle that slowed gradually.

“It is a safety measure, so that it won’t come to that.” The low murmur of his voice engulfed her. It was mesmerizing and calming.

She found herself counting the circles he drew. Then it dawned on her. She quirked her brow at him: “Are you trying to slow and align my heartbeat?”

“Does it work?” He breathed out a smile.

“You have the scans working. Tell me.”

He continued, watching her so intensely that she felt his eyes boring into hers. After some time he slowly nodded and hummed contently. She didn’t see his eyes widening for a second at the tiny hiccup her beat made when she heard the drone of his hum.

-*-*-*-

He had used the time to rest until they reached Jormark. Kalish was the only larger continent. A larger green speck, among countless smaller ones, in the vastness of a dark blue that the ocean provided. White crowns danced on the surface, long waves rolled onto the beach whose coordinates they had been given as a meeting point.

He pointed along the dark line of dried algae that marked the high-water level and she sat down the ship way beyond it. He noted how she turned the ship to make an easy and quick way out possible. He had already seen the lone figure approaching walking along the beach, approaching the ship with measured steps.

She had seen the man too: “No one else around.” He didn’t wonder that she took her routine measurements.

He left the cockpit just to hear her add: “Meet him outside.” Of course, her protectiveness stretched to her ship, too. He clasped his cloak in the front and drew up his hood.

When the ramp had lowered he took in the man that stood in a decent distance. He was well dressed, not overly, but nevertheless his clothing told his rank. As the spokesman and representative of the settlers on Kalish he was upholding a certain standard.

He was not tall, and somewhat sturdy around his middle. His blonde hair hid the grey in it well, but his blue eyes were lively. The tightly woven fabric of the drab shirt spoke of a thin thread. It made the material sturdy, still light enough to answer to the light wind that blew. It was tucked under a broad leather belt with he had fastened over trousers in a darker drab colour His attire was completed by knee-high boots which seemed to be water-repellent. His whole armament consisted of a simple small blaster on his hips. His hand was held afar from it.

Dargak waited at end of the ramp for the time of a slow breath, then he stepped over to the man. He saw the small movements of his head as the man took in his approaching figure. He remembered how this was done every time he neared a client. With a small nod he greeted the man.

“I … we.. ermm … you are the man I had contacted concerning our problem?”

Dargak’s hidden smile was quick. These people didn’t have many experiences in hiring mercenaries, it spoke for them.

“Positive. I took the contract. You said you have more information on our arrival.”

“Yes I’m Barneto, Toban Barneto. The major of Kalish, so to say.”

“Well met, call me Zab.” The man’s face was an open book. His eyes constantly roamed towards his back, towards the lowered ramp of the ship.

“Well, umm Zab, when you and your men are ready we can go and meet the council. Everything of importance will be spoken there.”

“How many raiders do we talk about. We need to prepare for the _meeting_.”

“ _Meeting_? Ohh. I get it. We were not able to count more than maybe twenty or so. But there might be more.” Toban’s voice had become small and unsure. Maybe he feared that they wouldn’t fulfil their contract.

“How far to where the council is?”

The sturdy man turned and pointed: “Round the bend and a few miles inland. About an hour’s walk.”

“How did you get here?”

“I walked, why?”

“Wait here.” The shorter his replies got, the more insecure the man became, until he was basically dancing on the spot the way he constantly shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

He didn’t wait for any answer, but turned and walked back into the ship.

“Twenty, thirty plus raiders, so far everything else unknown. Meeting point with council some miles inland, guess that is where their village is. Taking the shuttle?”

“Load everything we need into it. Will he walk ahead?” She started to heave a crate towards the entrance of the shuttle. Tharam was already up accepting the loads.

“Can we take him with us?”

She halted for a second then she shortly nodded: “Will pick him up on the beach.”

“Good. Will be waiting there with him. He’s getting a bit nervous.” He was about to leave the ship again when he turned and said loudly enough for both of them: “Zab is the name I go by here.” He left accompanied by a modulated chuckle and a set of green eyes rolling dramatically.

He went back to the waiting man: “Let’s back off a bit.” Taking him by his arm made the man tense but he was willingly turned and led away.

“What else can you tell me about those raiders?”

“They hide their faces, we don’t know who they are.”

The shuttle roared to live and with his hand on the man’s arm he guided him on, keeping him from turning around.

“What are they after?”

“Supplies. Until now, but last time they …”

“Children or women?” He had perfectly understood. As long as it was about things that could be replaced the people of Kalish had put up with the raiders.

The man spat out: “Women.” His eyes were wide when the A’den landed on the beach in front of them.

“Quicker that way.” He ushered the man through the open ram and between the crates that had been loaded onto the shuttle. When he had pressed him down onto one of the seats he pointed at the belt: “Buckle up.”

He found a leverage as he kept standing in front of the seated man, only swaying slightly as the shuttle lifted and made its way towards the settlement. He lowered his head even more as he caught the man staring up, trying to see behind his hood. He wanted to keep his charade up as long as possible.

When they landed outside the village and Vayra and Tharam left the cockpit the man stared: “A Mandalorian?!”

“Any problem with it?” Tharam had spoken before he could say anything.

“Oh errmm no. Not at all! It is more than we could have hoped for!” The astonishment was replaced by something that could be read as relief.

His daughter’s voice came guarded, even with the modulator easing the edges: “Care to enlighten us?”

“Some of the council feared that calling for mercenaries would enlarge our predicament. But now that they will see that there is a Mandalorian working for you they might be more relaxed.”

She was not yet convinced: “How so?”

“Once, before the Empire … there were some who came regularly and there were never problems, quite to the contrary. So we only have the best experiences with …. errmm I hope that expands to your tribe, too.”

Tharam kept totally silent, he had reduced himself to a looming presence in the back. Dargak knew that he was busy thinking over the information he had just received. Mandalorians here on Jormark, but Barneto had spoken about the past.

Then Tharam’s voice pressed violently through the vocoder: “Where are they now?”

“I’m sorry, we don’t know. They just … vanished. Never came again.” He produced as sad smile which was totally wiped off his face. His mouth turned into a wide O before he barely breathed: “Two Mandalorians.”

The man stared in what he considered a stunned awe as his daughter peeled back her hood to reveal her pearl black helmet. His smile became wistful as he remembered two Mandalorians in black armour, one shining and one pearl, who had had this effect on the people they had come across.

He would give Toban Barneto time to recover, before he would show his helmeted face. A horned helmet might be a bit too much for the man who already seemed to have troubles proceeding and finding back into a relaxed state at the sight of the two Mandalorians in front of him.

And they got more stares. He didn’t have to turn around to see the reactions their arrival caused. His tall cloaked and hooded form walking next to Kalish’s major started it off and the two armour-clad figures walking behind him had the people gather, point and whisper excitedly.

It somehow was a warm feeling that rushed through him at what he recalled to be the only warm welcome he or probably any Mandalorian had ever received. It was not only because the situation of the people of this village was desperate and they were seen as their saviours, but their experiences had been positive. Shortly he mused about the current location of the tribe. If Garos didn’t work out, they could try to settle here.

The village was barely a village, it was a small town. The peaceful sight which it made from afar was quickly done away with when they walked past the first houses. Some were barricaded, others were broken into, the doors hanging ajar and windows burst. A large storage had a still smouldering hole in its side.

As more and more people gathered he saw many sporting bandages, wrapped arms, legs or heads. He quietly wondered how many were more seriously injured and how many hadn’t survived the attacks.

The crowd which had whispered animatedly hushed as they were led into a large building. A quick glance backwards told him that they would be waiting outside. the corridor they were led through was not long and ended in a wide room. A row of seats arranged in a semi-circle stood to the far end. Each one was occupied by a member of the town, by a member of the council.

By their clothing he could see that all classes of their society had a representative present in the council. The age range was wide. He noted a young woman, barely in her early twenties as well as a middle-aged and an aged woman who had seen at least eighty turns of the seasons. With the men it was the same, every age group was present.

They were all humanoid, but not all human. The blue skin of a Chiss stood out prominently, as well as the pale green of a Mirialan, both were women. Then his eyes caught a red face with a head adorned with horns. He froze in midstride.

Hadn’t it been for Tharam and Vayra to halt their steps equally fast more than just the tattooed member of the council would have changed their gazes to curious looks. Thus it went by almost unnoticed.

He heard her voice in his earpiece, somehow Tharam must have managed to convince her to having the systems aligned: “What?”

He slowly nodded at the council in what could be considered a greeting. Slowly enough for Tharam and Vayra to copy his movement before he continued to step closer to the council. His eyes were fixed on the red face with its black tattoos. His gaze roamed over the sitting person until he saw the slight differences, a Dathomirian. The quick contact Vayra made with his arm told him that she had finally understood his reaction.

“The council of Kalish welcomes you.” The old woman had come to a stand with the help of a knobby staff.

“You want us to help.” Neither Vayra or Tharam had made a move to initiate the conversation. It was clear that he would be the spokesman for them.

“That we do. It is an honour for us to see two Mandalorians in your team.”

He decided that the time was right: “Three.” He flapped back his hood and revealed himself. The members council were not unprepared after he had announced their numbers. He was another Mandalorian. But the small wave of stir that went through them concentrated on one of their own, the Dathomirian.

He watched the paler man closely as he came to a stand and slowly walked down to him. He couldn’t know who or what he was, only the horns unconcealed by the helmet gave him an indication. When the council member stretched out his hand in a greeting he clasped his underarm.

“It is an honour. May I ask …” The question lingered and he gave it a quick thought.

There was no use or need to hide the obvious or the leave the man in the dark: “Iridonia.”

The old woman spoke up again: “Since we are honoured by three of the best warriors of the galaxy, let us explain the whole situation.”

And that she did. She and the whole council. Where their knowledge was limited witnesses were called.

When the first raid had taken place, it was only a few men who had taken only some supplies. The time to the next raid was spread so wide that the Kalishians hadn’t seen any link. But then the raids had become more frequent, more and more had been taken in searches within the town that took the raiders longer than just to get in, take what they needed and get out again.

And the last raid had been the worst. They didn’t just sweep in to steal, but they lay waste to more than necessary and for the first time the raiders were not content with the supplies, but abducted several young women, too.

A small boy’s testimony gave then a clue Dargak knew they should follow. The boy had been curious and brave and more than lucky. His size had been to his advantage to go unnoticed as he followed the raiders. Not far, but far enough to give him a lead where to start.

“Why did you take such a risk?” So far Vayra had kept quiet. But when the small boy had been asked to the council she had watched him very closely. At the first sign of discomfort she had squatted down next to him, her gaze through the visor solely directed towards the boy.

“They took Rika.” The small boy was beyond self-control and started to cry loudly.

“His older sister,” the Dathomirian helped out.

“We will bring them back, Rita and the others.” Vayra rose again and went to stand next to him.

“We will follow the lead and keep you informed.” He gave a short nod with his head, indicating that he had finished.

“You have to be our guests for the time of your stay on Jormark. I take it you would like some privacy. We will prepare one of the houses to accommodate you.”

“Thank you, anything at the outskirts will do.”

“Sivavi, will you please show them to your place.” The old woman had turned to the Mirialani who rose, bowed and waved them to follow her.

-*-*-*-

He had heard only bits of the conversation between the man from Jormark and Dargak, his main point of interest was convincing the woman next to him to have their systems interlaced. It had taken all of the arguments he could possibly come up with.

In the end, he didn’t know what did the trick, she had given in and he quickly did the adjustments he had to do before she changed her mind again.

When he left the cockpit he came eye to visor with the man who had hired them.

“A Mandalorian,” was everything the man was able to blurt out

And he was quick with his assessment. Too often he had felt the resentment and even hate: “Any problem with it?”

Vayra kept to his side and she sounded as disbelieving as he felt at the man’s statement. Yet, somehow the relief and even reference seemed genuine when the man explained himself.

The sudden droning sound in his ears seemed to rise to a deafening intensity – _other Mandalorians_ – they were not alone, there were more. His heart galloped in a surge of hope. And he needed to know where they are. But the answer was devastating – _vanished_ – they were gone. Again there were no more of them.

When Vayra flipped her hood back he suppressed his chuckle at the man’s reaction. A warm sensation of pride filled him at how she was looked upon. More intense was the warmth at the idea that she could be his, if she allowed it.

He walked straighter, with more purpose in his stride as he followed their leader into the small town. He made sure to keep her pace, as he unintentionally walked in step with her. Beneath the security of his helmet his eyes danced from one face to the next. Not a single one showed aversion, every single one held an excited, impressed but hopeful, even friendly expression.

It felt good, he could get used to being looked upon to like that. He remembered what Dargak had once talked about – setting up beacons to call out for their own. Jormark might be a good place to start with.

The destruction was to be seen almost everywhere. Especially at the outskirts of the small town. The closer they got to the centre the less damage he saw. The raiders didn’t risk getting caught up in the middle, a quick dash to the rims and then they retreated again. He was sure that the Krybans took stock of this too.

The council consisted of a dozen people. When they had come to a sudden halt he clasped his hands at his back and stood tall, a statue of Dura-allyo and Beskar, a colourful sculpture between two black Beskar armours. The old woman who spoke for the town stood out, not only due to her age, her eyes squinted amusedly as she gazed at him.

Out from the corner of his eye he saw Dargak nod before he stepped closer. He did likewise.

“The council of Kalish welcomes you.” The old woman who addressed them let her gaze roam over the three of them, but came to a rest on him. Again he clasped his hands behind his back, pulling back his shoulders, standing as still as possible.

When it had come to negotiations he had let Djarin do the talking. The older hunter was the one longer in business, although he was the quieter one, the more solitary one, the more forbidding one.

Where he was only initially shy, the other hunter was outspoken introverted. Where he had developed his social skills with the tribe with the help of his sister, the other hunter had mostly kept to himself.

If he had to guess, it was Karga Greef and the Armourer Djarin had spoken to most, definitely more than with any of the other members of the tribe, himself included. Their conversations , rare as they had been, had mostly circled around their hunts.

He had thought that the horned helmet of the Zabrak would cause a greater stir among the council members, but he was well accepted, just like he and Vayra had been. That they looked towards one of their own had him more astonished. He had been too preoccupied with the old woman than to notice the only other man with horns in the large room.

He hoped that his own slight movement had gone unnoticed as the man walked towards the Zabrak. But the closer he got the more the slight differences stood out, especially when it came to the tattoos.

In the following they learnt about what had happened to the small town. With the small clue they could start their work. And if they got really lucky the raiders might come even back. Though he was sure Dargak didn’t want to wait that long.

The young Mirialani led them to a small house at the outskirts of the town. It was surrounded by a once well kept garden. The garden was trampled down, the window next to the front door smashed and the door itself had been kicked off its hinges.

“I was visiting Elder Macisa when they came.” The small woman with the green skin and the black geometric signs on her cheeks rubbed her hands along her upper arms.

She stepped through the destroyed door into the room. He waited until the Krybans had followed, he used the time to look around.

A part of the garden must have been a herbal garden. In another, larger part he saw what was left of a vegetable garden. Everything had been uprooted in a fit of anger, leaving a path of destruction Among the colourful disarray he spotted something dark violet. Most of it crushed, just a single stem rose out of flattened field.

He bent and plucked it. The sweet scent made it into his helmet when he held it close to the lower rim.

“ _Wuta_!” It took him a moment to realize that the Zabrak meant him.

He entered the room and the green-skinned young woman turned towards him: “Oh, did they leave something untrampled?”

“What is it?” He twirled the stem between his fingers.

“A Malreaux rose, they are known for their deep red colours.”

“More a violet than a red,” he stated as he inspected the flower.

She reached into a half-smashed sideboard and handed him a slim vase: “Here, water tap is over there. Brings at least some colour to the chaos here.”

She looked around: “I’m sorry that we can’t offer you anything better.”

Dargak was quit to intervene: “It meets our requirements, so don’t worry.”

There was not much in the house that hadn’t been upturned. Together with the Zabrak he righted the sofa, table and chairs, bringing some order into the mess. With the vase set in the middle of the table it almost looked normal.

Then the owner of the house showed them around, not that there was much to look at. The main room functioned as a kitchen and living room, the only two other rooms were a bedroom and a fresher. It was even smaller than Dargak’s house on Ossus.

For the next hour they worked on sweeping the house and placing everything that was beyond repair outside. They were about to heave the mattress onto the bedframe when somebody knocked on the doorframe.

Some townsmen with their hands full of this and that were lining up outside. In the end they had dishes and a full meal sitting on the table, an extra mattress and bedclothes.

He retreated to the bedroom to eat quickly, after that they separated and went scouting, looking for tracks they widened their circles, communicating their finding and only when night drew in they met again in the small house to make their plans.

Dargak produced a map he had been given by Barneto: “The track led to the beach here, a ship had been pulled ashore. That means they have brought their loot and the women to one of the other islands.”

“The A’den can pick up heat signatures. I will set out later at night, the darkness and the cloaking system can cover me.”

“We will go together, if we can strike right away then the moment of surprise is on our side.”

He nodded to the suggestion of the Zabrak: “We still have the equipment on the shuttle.”

While he was sitting at the table he stared at the single flower in the slim vase. He had plucked it with the intention to give to Vayra, but the Mirialani had somehow diverted his goal. How exactly had he planned to give the flower to her, he asked himself repeatedly. It had been an impetuous and instinctive act.

He turned his head to look outside where father and daughter stood and again acted on impulse. He grabbed the vase and went to the bedroom. There he placed it on the small bedside table. He paused for a moment, and decided that it was better like that. He didn’t know if he actually was able to hand it to her personally.

It was a dark new-moon night when they made their way back to the shuttle. This time he sat in the hull leaving the Krybans to work as a team in the cockpit. Again their search was done in widening circles, checking on the closest islands first.

Their search ended halfway on their third semi-circle: “Heat signatures. Checking.”

He could hear Dargak clearly in his earpiece and he started to hack into the data pad the Zabrak had given him: “A cluster of buildings. Unoccupied, but two. In front of one two signatures. More inside. No movements inside. In the other, movements.”

“I’m drawing closer. Think we found them. How many in the buildings?” He could hear the concentration in her voice.

“First, five groups of four. Second, three, eight, ten, fourteen. No wait, two more coming in.”

“The two from the first building?” Dargak was resetting his controls.

“No, they are still there. And … there’s another heat-cluster. Incoming from seaside. … Change course! They will hear or see us!”

“Calm down, we’re cloaked. So, how many incoming.”

He still had to get used to the technology her ship and shuttle were equipped with: “Tight group of six, surrounded by eight.

“At a rough guess twenty-six women and same number raiders? Quite a number, but managable. There’s a clearing inland.”

“Copy. We will land there and work towards them. Let them gather and we can get them all.” It was not only the modulator that made her voice sound hard and metallic.

“We have to keep the kidnapped women safe and we can’t rely on them helping us.” He was calculating on different tactics. It all depended on where the newcomers located their new quarry and where they decided to stay.

While the shuttle sat down in the clearing he observed the red moving dots on his pad. A toothy grin spread his lips: “Cocky bastards.”

The routine was quickly discernible. A team of two stood guard over the women, a team of two was on patrol, the rest gathered lazily in building two.

Dargak chuckled: “Let me guess they are helping us wiping them out?”

He shove the pad into his hands: “Yap! I’ll get the explosives.”

His enthusiasm made Vayra snort: “Look, who else is cocky.”

Maybe it was the prospect of action, of taking out those who had brought misery to unsuspecting innocents. Maybe it was his musing of how she might react to finding the flower at the bedside table. Maybe it was something completely different. Whatever it was, it made him lean close to her and to growl into her earpiece: “Keep that up and _I_ ’ll be cocky and hard.”

He was already out of the shuttle with his rifle slung across his back and a knapsack full with explosives when he heard the inhaled yelp and the roar of laughter.

He dug his helmet down against his cuirass, but his blush was soon overcome by a chuckle about his own boldness: “Are you coming?”

Her retaliation was quick: “Not yet, might need your help.”

When he looked back he saw the Zabrak leaning heavily against the side of the shuttle, half bent over and holding his midriff, as his whole body shook.

He tilted his head and tried to keep his shoulders still. When she walked up to him her elbow dug into his side. But it felt good, he felt good. So he groaned dramatically: “Did you learn that from my sister?”

“Nope. No need to learn that. It’s a common woman-thing.” She giggled softly as they waited for Dargak to catch up.

“ _Ade_! You can’t do that to an old man! At least give me a warning beforehand!” He was still snorting time and again in mirth.

“Okay everybody had their fun. Now business. The women need us.”

“Oya Manda!” It felt good to hear their call, he felt good. Their numbers might be small, but they were _Mando’ade,_ they were _verde_! They would show the raiders what it meant to fight against Mandalorians.

His task was to sneak to building two and place the explosives. He waited until the patrol relief exited the building, then went to work. Vayra and Dargak wanted to deal first with the patrol and then the two guards.

He watched them vanish into the dark, following the patrol. He strained his ears, tuned up the HUD systems, no sound. Then: “Two gone.”

He sneaked towards the building, started on the left side of the entrance, ducked under the windows, ignored the raucous laughter and lewd topics that caused them, worked round the building, ducked again under a window and ended up on the right side of the entrance.

He waited, listened and quietly fixed a last detonator on the door itself. Gliding back into the darkness he waited. Dargak soon joined him again: “We got all: Patrol and sentry are cold. Vayra is taking the women to the shuttle.”

“Detonators are placed, might have used one or two too many.” He chuckled darkly. It felt good to take them out, he felt good.

“Ready when you are.” His hand hovered over his vambrace, ready to punch in the code that would make the explosives blow. He got a nod from Dargak and his fingers pressed down.

Together they sprinted off and he counted: “Five … four … faster … two … one.”

They were pushed forward into the undergrowth. He curled up as he was thrown into the thicket, he rolled into the motion and came up fast again. Turning he tore his blaster out, aiming in the general direction of building two.

It was a sea of flame and smoke. What was left of it was a burning inferno whose heat engulfed him. His ears were ringing and he felt the adrenaline roll in waves through him, but it felt good, he felt good.

Dargak was grunting and struggled up from where he had been thrown against the stem of a tree: “I’m getting too old for that shit.”

“Hurt?” As nothing moved in the direction of the explosion he turned to the Zabrak who patted down along his body.

“One head, two arms, two legs. Everything where it belongs.” But Dargak was breathing hard, he might not be hurt, but he was in pain.

He tilted his helmet at him and shrugged: “Revising healthy ways of taking falls might be due.”

He had barely made a step when his helmet was jerked forward by a slap to the back of it.

“D’aneh! Remember our sparring on Ossus.”

“ _Naak_!” They were laughing amiable on their way back and it felt good. He felt good.

The situation at the shuttle sobered them up. Dishevelled, torn clothing, dirty and bloodied. The women had not been treated tenderly. And they shrunk back as they appeared.

He watched Dargak hold his hands out and up and copied him. The nervousness some women spread seemed contagious and soon most of the women were sobbing.

“Please, fear not, we came to bring you back to your families.” Dargak’s solemn voice might be able to soothe and calm, his appearance in the dim light was not, so he tried his luck.

He slowly stepped towards them, more into the light: “Toban Barneto hired us to find you. We will take you back to Kalish.”

“Will you really?” The woman had a black eye and a split lip.

He nodded in affirmation: “Of course. I only fear that you will have to split into groups.”

The shuttle’s engines started: “Ladies! Sounds like we are ready for the first trip.” He went into the cockpit: “How many can the shuttle take?”

She turned her seat: “One in the cockpit, four in the seats, I will take it slow, four more sitting on the floor. Makes three trips.”

“Good, I will tell them.” He went back outside and soon found out that the woman with the black eye started to take things into her hands. The other women trusted her more than the strangers and especially Dargak with his horned helmet was eyed with mistrust.

He had to do something: “There is a Dathomirian in the council of Kalish, isn’t there? See, our _vod_ , our friend here is not much different.”

He looked at Dargak and quietly tapped his helmet and shrug his shoulders.

“You’re right. I’m sorry I didn’t think about removing the helmet.” Dargak came closer to the light and started opening the seal of his helmet. He got a range of reactions. Sighs of relief, ohs and ahs of astonishment and some wide eyes. The woman with the black eye stared openly.

Then she turned to him: “What about you?”

It took him a moment, then he shook his head: “We follow different ways of the Creed. My way doesn’t allow me to remove my helmet.”

There was a smirk on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes: “Pity.”

And he felt a blush creeping into his face: “Ahum … errmm … and I’m spoken for, anyway.”

“Double pity.” She turned and called the names of nine women: “When the shuttle is back it is your turn.”

He quickly stepped back and brought Dargak between himself and the woman. When she sought him out again, he kept his answers short and more than once he looked at the Zabrak for help, but he only grinned at him in return.

He started to become fed up and murmured: “You could really help me there.”

But the Zabrak only laughed at him: “And miss all the fun, no way!”

He tilted his helmet down, low enough to show his annoyance, the chuckle he then let slip through his vocoder came from the lowest parts of throat and he turned towards the woman: “You know this attractive Zabrak is not yet spoken for, you might want to try your luck with him.”

He quickly ducked out of reach and past the woman who really stepped up to the tall man. With crossed arms and resting his weight on one leg he waited for the _fun_ to enfold. The nasty look that Dargak shot him was answered by a sneer that the other man couldn’t see. It felt good to get back at him, he felt good.

When the shuttle came back, the woman helped the next group of women to find a place before she stepped back to stand again next to Vayra’s father. Vayra had only cast them a quick glance. A silent conversation of nods and shrugs passed between the two Krybans before she went back into the cockpit to bring the second group of women to Kalish.

He set his mic to directly contact Dargak: “I’ll be the co-pilot. There is no way I will share the hull with that lecher.”

“Neither will I. How about we put _her_ in the co-pilot seat.”

He didn’t have to think twice about that suggestion: “Deal.”

He was especially friendly as he led the woman to the co-pilot’s seat, giving Vayra an affirmative nod before he retreated to the area in the back and found a place for himself.

When they reached Kalish it seemed the whole town had gathered in the market square. A celebration had been prepared, despite the late hour. Tables and benches had been assembled, different kinds of dishes were piling on one of them. Barrels with beer had been opened and there was even a band playing.

Before he noticed what was happening he felt himself dragged forward with. His only relief was, that the Krybans didn’t fare any better. When he looked who had conquered his arm to pull him towards the middle of the market place, he was only able to sigh, it was of course the woman with the black eye.

The council had gathered and with a single tap of her knobby staff the old woman silenced everyone.

“This is the happiest day after a long time of fear, pain and loss. Thanks to you, honourable guests, Mandalorians, we can welcome those amongst us who we have deemed lost. Never have we been disappointed by the men and women of Mandalore, not in the past, not today and neither in the future. Scarce your numbers have become, but be assured that here in Kalish you will always be welcome. Besides fulfilling our side of the contract there is not much else we can give you to express our thankfulness, but this humble feast shall speak for our gratitude.”

The woman started to clap her hands and soon the place was filled with the noise of everyone clapping enthusiastically. He turned his helmet to look around, at the people standing around them, at Vayra who was pointedly looking at her boots and at Dargak stared without blinking at the council.

“Now, let’s celebrate!” and with that the music started to play, people took seats, went with mugs towards the barrels or with plates towards the table with the food.

Again his arm was pulled. “Dance with me.” Who else but the woman who had been hitting on him from the start.

He growled, deeply iritated: “Can’t. War wound.”

He concentrated on which leg he favoured and started to move off with a profound limp. But he wasn’t alone long. His arm was pulled up and around a set of shoulders. He opened his mouth to tell her finally off, but the words fell back into his throat as he saw the black armour.

Vayra was at his side, supporting him: “Where are you hurt? How did it happen? Do we need a medic?”

“Shhh. Just bring me back to our quarters.” He had to concentrate to keep up his limping while a low chuckle built up in his chest.

“If you are not hurt, why do you limp?” She was still supporting him with his arms slung round her shoulders.

His growl was more or less a yelped chuckle: “War wounds are good when it comes to dancing.”

“What … are you fleeing from the dance floor …” He could hear that she was confused and didn’t exactly believe him.

“ … that and that leecher.” When they couldn’t be seen from the market place anymore he gave up his limp, but kept his arm where it was, because it felt good to feel her warmth. He felt good.

She started to understand, her soft laughter told him that much: “You can’t dance.”

“Nope. Can you?” He deadpanned, guessing that she probably couldn’t either.

“Yap. I can.” She was laughing more.

It made him stop and he felt slightly embarrassed: “Umm how about you go back and enjoy yourself then?”

“Are you telling me that your company is not enjoyable?” He definitely had to learn more about her ability to counter him, to be better equipped. The way as it was she had him more often silenced with her retorts than he liked to admit.

“Yes, …No!” He had to take a deep breath first, but still his voice was hushed: “You tell me …”

She had turned to face him: “It’s more than enjoyable.” And when she pulled down his helmet to meet hers his breath hissed shakily.

“But you’re missing out on the beer and food.” He felt bad for having pulled her into his escape plan.

She stepped back and snickered: “Give me five minutes.”

With that she was off in a sprint. When she came back she had a basket with her: “Now we got everything. Drinks, food and enjoyable company.”

She placed two chairs so that their backs met, moved the table next to them, spread a cloth on the table and placed the items she had brought on it. It was two bottles and he guessed it was beer from the barrels, pieces of roasted meat, vegetables and several slices of bread.

She put everything but the bottles into the middle, reachable from both sides. Only the bottles she placed at either edge of the table. In all its simplicity it looked delicious and he licked his lips as he felt his mouth water.

“Yours.” She had placed a hand on the chair that looked towards the bedroom and he noted that it stood so close that with one step he could step in, aside and be concealed behind the wall separating it from the main room.

He waited until she had sat down to take a seat himself, with a last look behind him he reached for the clasp of his helmet.

“A toast to the successful job. No one hurt and all women back.”

He also went for the bottle and bounced it with a soft clank on the table: “On successful jobs.”

The beer tasted good and reminded him of _ne’tra gal_. It was rich and sweet. Only the spiciness was missing. At the first mouthful he realized how thirsty he was. He took another long pull and another before he sat down the half empty bottle.

“Hope you have eaten something or this will get right into your head.”

The guilty sound he made was a giggle, higher in note than he was used to coming from his lips. The brewing master definitely knew how to do his job. He could feel the result already creeping past his tonsils into his head.

He reached for the meat and a slice of bread: “Maybe not too late yet.”

It was as delicious as it looked. The curst crunched as he chewed it. It unmistakably tasted like the beer. A soft moan of content made it past his throat: “Tastes good.”

Her laugh sounded beguiling: “You make it sound like … something else.”

Maybe the moan he answered that with was a bit too saucy, but he didn’t mind, he felt good.

Maybe finishing the rest of the bottle with a few swallows was asking for trouble, but it would be good trouble.

And it definitely made him bold: “So, are you going to come?”

He didn’t wait for her answer but put on his helmet and stepped into the bedroom. He switched on the nightstand light and looked at the window. It was slightly more than a narrow gap with a heavy black curtain. He closed it, tug it into place and for good measure he draped his cloak over the curtain rod, too.

With an exaggerated sigh he sat down. He stretched out on the soft cover and crossed his arms behind his neck. When he tilted his helmet towards the door he saw her standing in the frame. She was taking a slow swig from the bottle.

“Cocky.” She was grinning sensually down at him.

His fingers curled in a grabby-hand motion, but he was still sober enough to stop after two curls. “If umm if that is okay for you.”

“And cute.” She tilted her head back as she emptied the bottle.

He saw the sway in her hips, the way she slowly turned to close the door and the way her eyes seemed to be dark glinting pools when she looked down at him. Very slowly he curled his fingers again. The soft creak of the leather clearly audible in the total quietness that lay around them.

Her eyes slightly widened: “You put the rose in here?”

“It initially was solely for you.” He craned his neck towards it. The light of the small lamp illuminated the dark violet petals. “As beautiful as you.”

He almost missed that she lowered herself onto the bed. But he didn’t miss the way she crawled up to him, it made him speechless. It was like she was stalking him, her toothy grin eased into an alluring smile. He stared up at her face as she slowly lowered her head and rested it against his visor.

“And charming.” Her eyes were so close, the blue of his visor the only barrier.

His arm was not long enough as he clawed for the switch of the lamp: “Lamp.”

“And needy.” She had read his mewled demand correctly.

“If it’s okay.” She didn’t answer, she acted. Stretching she reached out and with a soft click the room was buried in darkness.

He hadn’t sealed his helmet, so it made no noise when he slipped it off. Only the soft clunk, when he placed it on the floor gave him away.

With is outstretched arm he could feel her coming closer and he softly placed his hand on her back as she inched closer and aligned her form next to him. Her hair tickled his cheek as the weight on his collarbone increased, she was resting her head on him.

He so wanted to feel her and not the backplate as he ran his hand along her back, but he waited. His senses directed keenly on the most subtle hint.

He didn’t have to wait long. Her hand trailed along the other collarbone and down his arm. Then he felt the pinch at his fingertips. He wriggled each finger loose until she was able to pull off the glove.

He moved his hand from her back to her side and helped her to work that glove off too.

Her fingers nestled long on his wrist until he heard his vambrace click open. With the other she was faster.

She had to lean over him to place the items on the floor next to his helmet and her weight on him felt good. He felt good and he let her hear it with a low, appreciative hum.

He had the impression that she lingered, especially when his hand ran all the way from her shoulder down her back, over the firm roundness and along her shapely thigh. He felt the muscle tense under his ministration.

Slowly she glided back to lie along his side and he felt her turning away from him. Two metallic sounds followed. When she came to rest against him again he let his hand run down her arm to confirm his suspicion, she had taken off her vambraces.

His hand trailed further, until only their fingertips touched, his silent question lingered. She tapped her finger against his thumb. He closed the gap between his thumb and index finger and when he held the leather in his grasp she wriggled her finger back. Together they pulled off her gloves, which she flicked back onto the floor.

She let a deep inhale go after she had nestled back against his collarbone. He dipped his head and pressed a kiss against the softness of her hair.

Now he took his time. He breathed in the mahonia scent, curled his fingers into her hair and strands round his finger. He only let go, to run his hands down her arm where it lay across his chest.

When she moved he stilled to read her motions. Her hand found halt on his shoulder and she pulled herself up, closer, he felt her breath on his chin. His scruff would sting her lips. But when he felt her tongue slide up to play along his lower lips his breath hitched.

In shallow breaths his chest rose as her tongue mapped his lips, when her teeth grazed over his lips he stopped breathing completely, when she sucked his lower lip in, all the air escaped him in a long, low groan.

He twitched, but her hand cupped his temples. His hands fisted the sheets as she deepened her kiss. He grew breathless and when they broke they gasped for air. Not long enough to gain composure, just long enough to avoid dizziness for their next long dance.

When her hand left his temples he became aware of the loss of warmth, no matter how engulfed he was in their kiss. He huffed his discomfort. It died in his throat when he felt her shift.

The plush material next to his head caved in as she put her weight on her hands. The soft mattress gave way to the weight of her knee next to his side. The warmth of her thighs caressed his sides and to the heat that started to spread in his groin the heat of her core added as she straddled and pressed against him.

When he pressed his heels into the mattress to lift his hips, his moan became a growl of primal need.

“And hard.” Her husky growl undid him, he tilted his head back and let go of the groan that had built up deep in his chest.

Although she didn’t move she had him panting. His mind mockingly flashed all the fantasies he had entertained back at him as he tried to keep still. With the sheets in his fists he punched into the mattress to redirect his tension.

When she rolled her hips into him, his hands gripped her waist hard, lifting and easing her hips off him. Words were hard to form, his lungs burnt and his brain was a mess: “D-don’t … C-can’t …too … too clo-close.”

She didn’t answer, she didn’t laugh, she didn’t huff, she did lean in and kiss him deeply. When his hips snatched up in responding on instinct to the nip at his lower lip, he did feel the corner of her lips curl up.

Her breathing was hard, but she was still coherent: “Don’t or you ruin your trousers.”

“M-mess-y.”

With the way her thighs squeezed against his thighs he detected that she was shifting again. The part of him that had not given in to the basic needs yet was thankful for the break. The part of him that wanted to chase his release made him moan.

“Can’t have that.” Her hands were on the closing mechanism of the pauldrons, next on the cuirass. His chest heaved as she lifted their weight off him.

When the coolness of the night air brushed along his chest he noted that she had opened his flight suit. He pressed his head back to lift his shoulders as she peeled the fabric over his shoulders and down his arms.

“W-what are … you d-doing?” He knew what she was doing, again his brain separated in need and restraint.

“Want to feel your skin.” Her hands were cool against the furnace of his chest.

He slipped his arms out of the sleeves as she breathed soft kisses against his lips and jaw. He had one arm free when she reached his neck. He grabbed the sheet again as her teeth grazed against his pulse. He freed his other arm as her tongue trailed along his collarbone. Again he fisted the bedclothes and tore at them as her tongue flicked over his nipple.

His whole body arched with a groan and a shudder had him trembling as her nails trailed down to the rippling muscles of his abdomen.

How she had slipped herself and it lower, how she was able to peel down and gather the suit below his buttocks was beyond his ability to think straight. The rational part of his brain had finally given in, solely the craving of his body directed his movements, solely a slight sliver of restraint kept him from letting loose and turn on her to repay her with the same sweet torture.

He felt her fingers press along the v-shaped muscles to his groin, he felt them playing with the hem of his trousers, he felt them … too close: “ DO-DON’T … don’t touch!”

Her hum was full with understanding and with … hunger: “I’ll be careful.” She used both hands to pull the waistband off him.

The buttons sprung open, one after the other. “If” – _pant_ – _button_ – _pant_ – “You” – _pant_ – _button_ – _pant_ – “Touch” – _pant_ – _button_ – _pant_ – “Me” – _pant_ – _button_ – _pant_ – “I” – _pant_ – _button_ – _pant_ – “come” – _pant_ – _button_ – _pant_.

Her voice was a soft purr in his ears as she slowly kissed her way up again: “See, I was careful.”

He felt relief, of the tension of his trouser, of the tension coiling and burning in his loins. His mind reeled. This was really happening. All the longing days and nights. All the times he had tried to get closer to her. All the times she had retreated and pulled away from him.

He wanted to feel her, to touch her skin, to explore her body with his lips and he moaned his need into her next deep kiss. He rolled his hips into the void she kept between them and grunted his desperation: “Wwhat … what about … you?”

“Ah – Ah. Tonight’s not about me.” He leant into her caressing hand as she stroke her fingers down his temples, over his cheek and a trailed her thumb long his lips.

He gave in into the impulse and sucked the first digit in, his teeth carefully closing and holding it while his tongue circled the tip. She inhaled sharply, hitched into a broken moan. She nipped at his collarbone and ran her nails over his chest. He let her go as he breathed his moan.

She rested her palm on his chest and he felt the pressure as she used him as leverage to drag her leg over him, to come to lie next to him again.

He didn’t know if he should be relieved or frustrated. It lasted only a moment. It only lasted until she breathed into their next kiss: “Do you want …”

“Want. You?! Yes … but … can wait.” He had feared he had gone too far, had made her retreat again.

“Can you really?” He heard the tantalising slur, the alluring smirk, the seductive hint.

“Bare-ly.” His gasps had finally reduced to hard breathing.

“Don’t have to.” She smothered his question with another deep kiss.

He forgot what she had said, what he wanted to ask as their tongues entwined. She had him panting again when he felt her finger tug the waistband of his briefs lower. His rising hips made his length brush against her arm, it made him groan and buck again.

He gritted his teeth as he felt himself freed of any fabric. His voice was coarse grunts: “Are you sure?”

“Hmm.” Her finger trailed along the veiny underside and he swallowed a howl of a groan.

“W- want … you. Nee-need … you.” The last coherent words before started to mouth gibberish. Her hand had enclosed his girth and started a rhythm that matched the thrusts of his hips. His arm wrapped round her and pulled her close to his side. His mouth sunk into hers. His teeth dug into her skin as she drew a moan with each motion.

The searing coil tightened as he mouthed hoarsely her name:”Vay-ra.”.He cradled her face with his palm, pressing his forehead against hers and clung to her: “Be Mine.“ His groans became pained: “Need. You.” His world imploded into a wave of blinding whiteness as the coil sprung free.

When his muscles slowly relaxed, he lay panting. Only slowly his brain was able to pick up its work again. Her hand was softly stroking his slackening length, his stomach and loins cooled with the sticking mess coating him.

Self-consciousness flooded him. He had gone too far, he had lost control: “I’m sorry … I shouldn’t …”

“I’m not” His ears were still filled with white noise. Had he heard correctly?

“Vayra, I …”

“Hmm … if I had known that it takes this for you to say my name I would have done it much earlier.”

“I … you …”

“ _Di’kut_. If you liked it, kiss me.”

He cupped her face with both his hands: “ … I … you.” He couldn’t find the right words, not yet. His lips, his tongue had to speak for him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ne’johaa! Shut up!  
> vode: comrades, mates  
> Aruetii: strangers  
> verd: warrior, soldier  
> buir: parent, father, mother  
> al’verde: commander  
> riduur: spouse, wife, husband  
> beroya: bounty hunter  
> Wuta: green-blue  
> Ade: children  
> D’aneh!: Brat!  
> Naak: peace  
> ne’tra gal: black ale - sweet, almost spicy black beer  
> di’kut: idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)


	38. Black is integrity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hunt to bring justice and a past better kept hidden in oblivion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist  
> 1) (Vay&Thar) Kamelot – In twilight hours https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wwC6XZip5fM  
> 2) (Dargak) Ivan Torrent – Vis Motrix https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MhzOf3MmptU  
> 3) (Dargak / Vayra & Elder Macisa Ivan Torrent - The Edge of Consciousness https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AFoNnaI1eaY

She was about to make her way to the table with the food when she saw his green-blue armour-clad form limp away from the festivity. A tight feeling raced up her throat, this was not good. He must have got hurt on their mission and it made her feel bad that he had been able to hide it.

Her swearing made the woman next to her flinch and excuse deeply. It took her by surprise until she realized what caused the woman’s reaction: “What? No, no. Sorry to have upset you. It’s not you, just my …”

She stormed after him: “Kiffin’ idiot. Hurt and again not saying anything …” Ducking under his arm she draped it over her shoulders, holding on to his wrist, while she slung her other arm round his waist. Every limping step sent a pang through her, sent her guts into turmoil, made her feel bad.

“Where are you hurt? How did it happen? Do we need a medic?”

She listened closely. His breathing was normal as he answered her, not a sound of pain was to be detected. Quite to the contrary, there was a goofy sound, he was chuckling.

A wisp of anger flared in her: “If you are not hurt, why do you limp?”

Yes, he was definitely laughing in a suppressed way and her anger made way to confusion. Slowly it dimmed on her: “What … are you fleeing from the dance floor …?” He was just pretending, the lessening of the sickening knot in her guts made her feel better.

She had had no time to observe anything while she was transporting the women back to the town. Only the very courteous way Tern had escorted a woman with a black eye and a split lip to the co-pilot’s seat had made her wonder for a second, before her attention had been drawn back to steering the shuttle safely.

After having landed with their last freight of women, she gave herself the time to watch more closely. The woman was attractive, very attractive. Slim and still with curves at the right places. Her torn dress revealing the deep v-shape of her cleavage. When she stood her shoulders were pulled back, accentuating the swelling of her more than well-sized bosom. When she walked her hips swayed provocatively, more so when she stepped forward to walk in front of Tern.

Her brows had knitted as she had watched with narrowed eyes. Where she was muscles, this woman was plush, where she was rough, she was softness, where she was ample and voluptuous, she was trim and slim. A tense feeling that wanted to throttle her took hold of her whole being.

It had been only small solace that Tern kept his visor straight forward, well above the head of the alluring woman. When he sidestepped and brought more distance between the woman and himself, the tenseness vaguely lessened, it made her breathing easier.

She hadn’t thought him to shy away from a challenge, but thinking over his admission that he couldn’t dance, she had to admit that there very likely hadn’t been any opportunities for him to develop such a skill. It made her laugh and thinking up other skills he might miss had her shortly distracted. But laughing was good, it made her feel good after the tension that had settled in her subsided.

She didn’t want him to feel embarrassed and immediately felt regret at hearing his defeated voice. He wanted her to enjoy herself, with the others. She didn’t know where her quipped answer had come from, maybe from their light-hearted banter before their job, but it was out before she could think it through properly: “Are you telling me that your company is not enjoyable?”

It made him stammer and the defeat in his voice gave her a sting, right where it hurt most. She had to ensure him, she had to make up for her impetuous counter: “It’s more than enjoyable.” It was good to see his posture straighten again, it made her feel better.

But words were not good enough. She wanted him to feel her sincerity in the most understandable way, with their helmets pressed against each other, able to hear each other breaths escaping from beneath their metal confinements.

Confined behind metal, a thought hit her and it made her feel much better. She had smelt the richness of the beer as several people were standing near enough so she was able to take a whiff. He would like it and they could enjoy the evening together.

It took less than five minutes. Her father was engaged in conversation with members of the council. She informed him quickly, so that he wouldn’t search for them. His wriggling eyebrows and his smirk painted her face in red that no one could see.

Her explanations to those helping the people to food and drink had been short and she had been given a basket to gather everything she wanted. They would have their own little and private festivity. A content feeling smoothly spread throughout her whole being at the prospect of spending this precious time with him.

It was good that he had got used to sharing his meals in the presence of others, so it was easy to find a way to sit that he could be comfortable with. His visor eyed the layout of the food and the bottles and sat down quickly.

She heard the clank of the bottle on the table and then the long swallows he took. He was definitely thirsty and probably also hungry. The smile that spread on her face was smug. She had seen the dark colour of the beer, she had smelt its richness. It was good home-brewed stuff, the kind that gets in the head quickly.

She warned him and the sheepish giggle told her that her warning might have come too late. When he heartily dug into the food she quickly wondered where he stored it in his lean body. But it made her feel good that he enjoyed it so much.

The soft sound that emanated him and resonated through her with the way their shoulders touched made the world around her go still for a moment. It didn’t sound lewd, it didn’t sound obscene. It spoke of content and pleasure of the small things in life.

But maybe she shouldn’t have teased and prompted him. He was picking up on her way to answer, he was a fast learner. And with the next sound he made the world round her tightened and flare up for a moment. It was lascivious and it sent a warmth to her insides, it made her feel better than she had for ages.

The alcohol, it was definitely the alcohol that was getting into his head, that made him moan lewdly, speak boldly and sigh so invitingly. She scolded herself for wanting to see what had made him sigh the way he had, for wanting to hear this kind of sigh again, for wanting to be the reason for this kind of sigh. This kind of sigh that had her innards rearrange themselves out of their own will.

She just kept standing in the doorframe and took in the scenery. He had covered the small window – no light would be able to creep in – her heart jolted, her innards knotted at what he might expect. He was lying outstretched, and continued to stretch slowly in a more than comfortable way – her heart punched, the knot flared. He might not know it but he was teasing and tempting her.

She shouldn’t empty the bottle, but it tasted good and it made her feel good. It made her bold enough for what her instincts want her to do.

“Cocky.” Yes, the way he presented himself, the way he called for her with his hands, even if it was only the alcohol that had loosened him, he was cocky and it made her smile, it gave her ideas.

But he was considerate, his shyness skimming to the surface a second later and she found it more than adorable. “And cute.”

What he leecher could do, she could do twice as well. Moving insinuatingly was something her hips allowed her to do twice as well. Alluring him with looks was better done without a black eye. And when he responded with this slow and wanting curl of his fingers she felt her mouth go dry. Was he at all aware of what he was doing to her?

The closed and locked door would ensure the privacy she wanted to have with him. Her pulse quickened as she remembered his careful approach at the hidden lake and his careful restraint at the old volcano. She was certain that the bottle of beer had not been enough to make him inconsiderate.

Her gaze fell to the bedside table to find the last source of light. Again he was able to surprise her. She had seen the rose on the table, but now it was next to the bed, shone on by the lamp, illuminating the dark violet. She had to sit down. His consideration for her was charming and his compliment swept her off her feet.

It might make her legs weak, but it strengthened something else. It strengthened the need to be closer to him, to show him that she wanted to be closer to him. She could hear the sharp inhale as she gazed directly into his blue visor and she knew what she wanted.

She wanted to hear this inhale again: She wanted to hear this low rumbling of his soft moans again. She knew what he yearned for, his voice was betraying him even despite the modulation of the helmet. Again he managed to stab her heart with his consideration for her and her needs.

She could feel the pressure of his hand on her backplate, it was only soft, a guiding help without any force and it made her sigh as she rested her head on his collarbone. Maybe it was only her imagination, maybe it was only her pulse, but maybe it was his heart that was racing in a fast beat.

Of course she could stay like this until the morning broke, but she wouldn’t need the safety of a close room for that. Having been given this opportunity she wanted to take another step, to learn more about him, to feel more of him.

The darkness was only a slight obstacle and they were working well together to remove his protective layers. The creaking of the leather and the metallic clinks and clunks were the only sounds that filled the room. She would have loved to hear his low voice in the darkness, but he kept still, so she did too. Yet it was this quietness that helped her to feel safe.

The quietness and the hum. These hums with which he was unknowingly able to undo her, to shatter any doubts and restraints. These touches with which he set her on fire and drowned her in in iciness at the same time.

She smiled as she felt his hand wander down her arm, she heard his inhale as he found it bare of its armour. Her smile widened as she felt his fingertips twitch once against hers. She was able to read his subtle and wordless questions and requests, his wish to feel the bare skin of her hand.

Her smile told of pure bliss as she felt his lips against her head. She closed her eyes at the soft caressing. She relished them, they helped her to rein in her fast beating heart. With a smile she wondered how fast he could make it beat when he kissed her, when he caressed her.

First she was curious at his lack of movements, then she remembered how she had to coax him in the volcano crater. He was holding back, he wanted her to feel good with what she was doing. It made her bolder. She loved the way she could make his breath falter, she relished the way she could draw these soft sounds from him.

She felt his straining to keep himself under control, the small twitches of his body, the tensing of his muscles, the shivers that ran down his body, the tugging at the sheets beneath him, the panting for oxygen.

She felt his loss of control as he pressed his hardness against her, as his soft moans became husky groans. She felt his hands dig painfully into her waist as she rolled her hips into him. It had only been once, but it had him at the verge of what he could take.

It made her breath stagger to realize that his want was so deep and surfacing so quickly. His kiss wasn’t that concentrated anymore, her move to straddle him had him worked up so quickly. With every little touch and nip he strained more and more.

He was breathing so fast, so laboured. Getting rid of his armour was only logical to ease the pressure he felt. She tried to lie to herself, but the truth was simple. She simply wanted to touch his skin, to feel its heat under her fingers, to tend to his needs. He was pliant, helpful, even when only his instincts were left to guide him.

Under her fingers his skin felt heated. On her tongue his skin tasted slightly salty with the sheen of sweat she had managed to put on him. His muscles were quivering under her lips. His body was writhing under her nails.

She felt him give in to her touches, to his needs. She heard the punches into the mattress as her teeth grazed along his skin. She heard his pants and groans as her hands trailed down to his trousers. She wanted him to come undone for her and her alone. His need made her feel good and she wanted him to feel good.

For this first intimate night together she wanted to concentrate on him alone. He teased her and tempted her. Her made her moan at the prospect of what he would be capable of. But she desired for him to lose all those restraints he had put onto himself and to give in to her completely.

She heard his last coherent words, they were direct towards her and made her heat up from inside out. Then she touched him, enclosed him, fell into a rhythm with him. His kisses turned feverish, his grip left imprints on her side, his teeth marked her neck, his groans sounded almost pained.

For the first time her name was on his lips the second his world turned into bliss. His words made her world blacken out. She just wanted to be kissed by him to make everything feel even better. She ran her hands over his sweat-stained temple while he fought to catch his breath again. It was hot on her forehead.

His voice was an exhausted mumble: “Why …?”

“Wanted to make you feel as good as I felt.” It was simply the truth. All the times he had managed, knowingly and unknowingly to make her feel better.

“Hmm … felt?” She felt him lifting his head to look down at her.

“Feel.” She caught his lips again in soft, plush kiss.

“Give me minute to make you feel better.”

“Ah-humm?” The way he sounded made her grin. It was a mixture of surprise and anticipation together with complete incomprehension of her intentions.

“Getting you, us cleaned up. Will be right back.” Before she opened the door she told him to turn his head away and with a soft knock she announced her return.

She felt his outstretched arm guiding her back to his side. Her hand found his temple again: “You are sweaty.”

“Ah-m, not my fault.” There was this low hum and chuckle again.

She cupped his jaw tighter: “Cheeky! Now hold still or I accidentally poke you.”

He did hold still, when she ran the cloth over his face. Only his vocal cords didn’t. He did not move when she ran the cloth over his chest and abdomen. Only his lungs did move, in a fast way. But he did flinch when she reached the v-shaped muscles. She stilled. Only their breathing filled the stillness of the room.

“Together.” It was just a low murmur before she felt his hand cupping hers. It had been one thing, touching him to bring him over the edge, it had made her want to follow his arousal . Being guided by his hand to clean his body sent shivers over her skin that even intensified the lingering desire.

She put the cloth on the nightstand and heard him sit up. He was wrestling with his bunched up suit. But soon the sounds of his boots dropping on the floor and another sound from metal and fabric let her know that he had discarded of the rest of his clothes.

Her heart soared high, she felt good the way it was. She wasn’t sure about more, she didn’t feel prepared for _that_ yet. The mattress dipped under his weight. His hands were on her pauldrons.

“I …”

“Just get as comfortable as you want.” Her heart panged again with his consideration.

She let him work on the shoulder protectors as she undid her breastplate. The rest of the Beskar followed along with her boots. But when she rose to a stand to slide off her suit she halted. He settled back and waited. Her hand felt her pulse on her neck. It was beating even faster than before. Quietly she slid off her suit and let it lie in a heap. Her hand found his and he guided her back to lie beside him.

Could he feel how fast her heart beat? Her brain overworked at how to tell him that she was content the way it was. But he simple cradled her in the crook of his arm, his hand only rubbed along her arm.

“Just lie with me.”

With her palm she cupped his scruffy jaw and her fingers wandered lower until she could feel his pulse beneath them. His racing heart was slowing down to a steady beat that lured her into sleepiness.

“Your father’s idea, about the beacons and using Dadita … we could set up a first one here.”

She put all the tension she felt in the exhale she let go against his skin. Again he had unknowingly managed to make her feel better.

She didn’t know how long they talked and when she had fallen asleep. But it felt good to wake up on his chest which was heaving in even breaths. Quietly she gathered her things and stole from the room.

-*-*-*-

He watched as Tharam limped off, but before he could move Vayra was at his side. He quickly cast the notion to follow them off. He knew that the younger man had not been injured, the food felt delicious and the beer tasted good, why should he spoil their night.

He had to shake a lot of hands and receive many words of thanks and gratitude now that he was the only one left the people of Kalish could turn to. He even made a few rounds on the dance floor, but he made sure that the woman with the black eye was not his only dancing partner. Tharam had been wise to flee from her.

When he saw the Dathomirian in the crowd he excused himself from her and went over to him.

“Dargak Krayban.”

“Haggard Rodde.”

“The Sith didn’t leave many of you.”

“The Empire didn’t leave many of _you_.”

He laughed amiable: “Touché. It is sad but true, we both are species on the brink of extinction.”

“I was safe here on Jormark. My family had left Dathomir before the Sith struck.”

“Can’t say that I’ve been that lucky. Not many made it alive off Mandalor. It is an honour and a burden.”

“Didn’t you say you came from Iridonia.”

“Not exactly. _Cin Vhetin_ , a fresh start. I’m Mandalorian.”

He didn’t want the memories, which even after such a long time sometimes found their way into his sleep, to surface again. He didn’t want to remember Ziost, he had tried to forget Korriban. The other man only nodded, sensing his discomfort.

They went to find a place to sit as they continued talking about safer topics than the past. Haggard was well informed about what went on. The most unsettling information was how the remnants of the Empire still tried to take roots, how the New Republic fought on it edges and how many different groups of dissenters, pirates and criminal bands tried to fill the void that had been left.

Soon other members of the council came to sit with them and he used his time wisely. He brought up the idea of a beacon without giving away the Nevarro tribe. Although here had been a discussion for short time, the men and women of the council conceded to the idea.

He forgot about the time when their conversation covered many other topics. Only when he was offered the third mug of beer he declined: “It’s been a long day. It’s better to get at least some sleep. If you’d excuse me.”

He nodded his farewell, but as he strode towards the building they had been given, Elder Macisa intercepted him: “May I have a word with you.”

He took her in. The woman was not tall, the crown of her head barely reached up to the lower rim of his cuirass. Her snow white hair was short and curly and stood out in high contrast to the darkness of her skin. Age and weather had marked her face with deep lines, but the wrinkles around her eyes bore witness that laughter had played a great part in her life too.

Dargak mused that in her youth she must have been a sight to behold: “Yes, Elder Macisa. How can I help you.”

“The question is, how can _I_ help _you_.”

He studied her. Her lips were smiling, but her eyes held a seriousness that made Dargak tilt his head in question.

When he didn’t react she continued: “Your past, her future. You are not her natural father, yet the Force has found a way to unite two sides of a coin. You were _meant_ to be her father.”

“I can’t quite follow.” Although he had no clue how she could have known, he could guess what she was referring to about his past. He set his face into a neutral mask and controlled his breathing.

The way she cackled almost hurt his ears: “Don’t play coy. Or shall I remind you of your days on Korriban.”

Although he had tried to prepare himself, physically and mentally. But being confronted directly derailed his facial expression and a low snarl rose from the back of his throat: “No one knows, no one that knew is alive anymore. No. One.”

“I know.” Her statement was simple.

“Who are you?” Neither his glare, nor even his pointy teeth bared in a snarl made her flinch back.

“You _know_ who I am. Elder Macisa.”

“NO. Who. Are. You?” Without blinking he stared into her black eyes.

“Just someone who was deprived of a certain future by the Empire. That what called to you, called to me too. Just in a different way. If you hadn’t so rigorously cut your bonds, you could still feel it the same way as I do.”

Another predatory snarl made it through his vocal cords. He had cut these bonds for a reason.

“Reach out you will see the truth. You still remember how to do it.”

He was still able to form words, snarled and gnarled like a wounded animal. His cords were still able to press out words, jarred and creaking like an old tree in a storm: “No! … Never again!”

It took all his will to stay grounded, to neither flee nor fight. His nails dug crescents into his palms and he felt the stickiness when they broke the skin.

“You felt it. Where there is no emotion, there is peace. Isn’t this how you lived since you found your daughter?”

His piercing stare didn’t waver, her whole form filled his vision: “I _do_ have emotions, I feel pain, loss … love …passion …” – _Peace is a lie_.

“You felt it. You gained more with serenity than with passion. Wasn’t it always your calmness that helped her to calm when she was in uproar?”

Everything around sank into blackness only her form loomed before him. His memory threw all the situations at him when he had soothed her.

“My passion empowered me as her father, it was and is what gave me the strength to calm her. Without it I wouldn’t be here. – _Through power I gain victory. – Harmony._

”Leave the chaos behind you and you will find harmony.”

He felt his fists clench until his knuckles cracked, the length of his arms shook. His shoulders were tight and the pain in his collarbone increased.

“I … I … am a warrior!”

“You were _made_ a warrior in Ziost, in Korriban.”

“I … it was a chain … I broke my chains. I am free. I … I am a Mandalorian!

“Then how are you going to help her?”

A jolt went through his whole body. It was as if all the air around him had been sucked away. He gasped at its loss and doubled over on his knees.

“W-wi-tch-ch. W-what-ch … you’re … d-doing?” He tried to suck in air, his lungs did not inflate. “S-stop …it!”

“I’m not doing anything. It is all your doing.”

He couldn’t move as she stepped closer. Like a cornered animal he glared into her black eyes. He wanted to pull back his head as her hands reached out to cup his face. A strangled sound escaped his furled lips as he fought in vain.

Then her cold hands touched his skin and all the air he had so desperately wanted to inhale rushed into him. His hands snapped up and grabbed her hands, stained them with his blood, but he couldn’t pull them away. A small, old woman was stronger than him. – _Through passion I gain strength. – Focus._

“W-what…?”

“Focus, Mandalorian. Focus on my hands. Focus on my face.”

He stared at her and slowly he blinked. Those wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, they come from laughing, those wrinkles come from laughing. – _Harmony._

He blinked again and was able to pull her hands off his face. They did no longer feel so cold in his.

“W-what wa-was that?”

“Confront yourself with what you have locked away. Then tell your daughter. She _has to … needs to_ know!”

She helped him as he scrambled back to his feet. A feeble old woman had to help him to gain his balance again.

“W-what am I to tell her?”

“Your past as it was and as it could have been. Of those like you and of those like me. You will find the right words and she will recognize the way when it opens to her. Now go and rest, the time to speak will come.”

Her hands tentatively let his go, still numbed he stood, although she had left him without another glance or word. His fingers balled into fists and stretched again.

Like drunk he stepped on. It took him several steps to stop the sway in his walk, to no stain the walls with the blood in his palm as he no longer ran his hand along the walls of the buildings to feel steadier. He found his composure again and only felt a heavy tiredness tugged at him, but beneath it simmered anger.

Anger at the Dathomirian for just reminding him where he had come from, anger at the old woman who had pulled him pack into his past. Anger at his own incapacity to contain what was not to surface ever again. It quietly simmered as he stepped on.

Past one of the last houses something, someone tugged his arm with surprising strength and he was pulled into the darkness between two buildings. His knife was out and only the high-pitched gasp kept him from slicing into the flesh of an exposed neck.

The simmering feeling flared into live: “What more do you want, witch!”

This woman was taller, the low-riding neckline revealing, the skin smooth. The darkened eye were she had received a blow was hidden in the darkness, the half of the face which he could make out smiled hungrily at him: “You.”

“Can’t give you what you want.” Harshly he wrung his arm out of her grip and turned to leave.

Her arms slung round his midriff. Her intentions were clear the way one hand roamed up to press under his cuirass while the other trailed south: “I’m sure you can.”

The squeeze she gave his crotch made him jolt. Roughly he tore her hands from his body and pressed her against the building behind her back. She wriggled and he pressed her arms against the wall above her head. Her leg swung up, she wrapped it around his thigh and pressed him closer.

He growled ferociously as she started to roll herself against him: “If I can’t have him, then I want you. Heard that Zabraks are fiery and fierce lovers.”

He tilted his head down at her and snarled with narrowed eyes: “I’m not a piece of meat that can be changed at will.”

She tried to make her voice alluring: “What are you then?”

“A Mandalorian!” He pushed himself off of her and turned.

He didn’t know what she was normally like. He didn’t know if she had been like that before she had experienced the kidnapping, or if it was a result of it. He just didn’t want to know.

His steps took him quickly to the small house with the destroyed garden. He noted that the door to the bedroom was closed, but the sofa was empty. It would be his bed tonight. Ossus came to his mind, it wasn’t the first night that he spent on a sofa. Ossus where she had visited the temple. The temple where she had experienced these strange things. Where his calmness had soothed and steadied her.

He didn’t know what time it was on-planet. Just that it was too early and that his head felt somewhat heavy. He didn’t know what had happened during the night, but hearing her softly hum a tune as she prepared the caff let him know that it had been something good and it made him feel better.

He could revel in the feeling until the prospect of their next planet made the corners of his mouth fall. It was good that she had spent a pleasurable night. It had kept her from concentrating on their trip to Myrkr. The trip would give him time to consider what the old woman had said.

He sat up with a grunt. The adrenaline was gone, the alcohol was gone, the pain had returned. He had felt it the second the shockwave had made him connect with the tree stem. He had heard no cracking sound, that was good. But the way his shoulder had stiffened up was not good.

He tried to roll it, it tore another grunt from him. He had her attention, she turned around and eyed him critically.

“Did you overdo it?”

“Your _goor’verd’ika_ overdid it. Could have blown up the large temple in Ossus with all the explosives he used.” He tenderly rubbed along his collarbone, feeling the swelling.

He looked up at her, she had come over, two mugs in her hand. Pressing them both in his hands she simply started unclasping his pauldron and cuirass.

When she started opening his flight suit he was torn out of his stupor: “What are you doing? I’m fine.”

“Checking on your shoulder.” Carefully she peeled the suit back and hissed.

He tried to peek at what had made her turn and go for her bag. When she pulled out a small jar he sighed: “That bad?”

When her salve-covered fingers connected with his collarbone he felt how bad it was.

“Tulata told you to be careful. This throws you back at least one or two weeks.”

“Will be more careful, promise. But don’t give him any explosives again. And … don’t break it on Tulata.” His grin was lopsided and he succeeded to make her chuckle.

“Too bad that Myrkr is not that far away to give you a proper time of rest. When we are back consider yourself grounded or I _will_ tell Tulata.”

He pressed his lips together, this was not what he wanted to hear: “Fine.”

“Reminds me, we have to stock up our med supplies. Never needed that much when I was on my own. You two are _Vaulr_ and _Haran_ , walking on two legs.”

His laugh was a bit rancorous: “And who is who?”

She only huffed audibly annoyed and threw the knapsack over her shoulder. He was left to the words she had thrown at him. _Vaulr_ , chaos. _Haran_ , destruction – drazutis – Apprentice Drazutis. No! – _Cin Vhetin_!

-*-*-*-

He might not know it, but he was easily read. She picked up on his stiff movements when he rose from the sofa. She saw him roll his shoulder. She noted how he tenderly tapped along his collarbone. He had suffered harm from their job. And she saw how his face suddenly lost any expression.

She would have never thought Tern to be that fond of explosives, she would have guessed that her _buir_ had placed an extra detonator for good measure. But he made her think better of it. She would have to remember this when it came anything similar like that again.

As it was, she could help him only with the rest of the Bacta salve she had left. She tried not to imagine the two men working together, chaos would be ensure, havoc would be created and destruction would mark their way.

She had to get more supplies with these two and the oncoming job on Myrkr. She strictly kept her thought on what she would need. Bandages, normal one and Bacta-infused ones, Bacta, best several jars of it, syringes, a better, newer needle and more thread, maybe a second cauterizer, stims, if she could get them at all.

Myrkr, located on the outskirts of the Inner Rim, was known for several things. Hiding place for anyone seeking to get rid of attention, hunters and criminals alike. Forests consisting of old and huge trees, among them an exceptional kind with a high content of metal which was able to render sensors useless. And Vornskrs, pack hunters, night hunters, force hunters, deadly with their teeth-filled huge maws and their whipped tails containing a painful and stunning poison.

All the information had crept into her mind as she was on her way back to their quarters. At least it was no man’s land, between the interests of what was left of the Empire and the New Republic. The sensor scrambling trees there would be a great addition to what her ship and her shuttle was able to provide.

She had got some Bacta, the needle, thread and the bandages. Of course there had been no stims available, but at least she had got an ampoule the small dark-skinned elder had said would be useful. She had wanted to skip on it – _Through passion you gain focus_ – it might be useful on a planet like Myrkr, or any other.

When she returned to the small house both men were already waiting. Without a word Tern took the knapsack and shouldered it. Together they went through the town, most of the people were already busy with their daily tasks and heads bobbed in friendly greetings.

The council was already gathered when they entered the long hall. Elder Macisa stoop up and pounded her staff once. Everyone who had gathered in the hall went quiet.

“Honoured warriors! Saviours of so many women of Kalish! The time to part has come. May our best wishes follow your paths. And if we can be of any help to you, remember that you will be always welcome, any of you, any time. _Ret’urcye mhi_.”

Hearing her speak Mando’a sent a jolt not only through her but also through her _buir_ and especially through the more conservative Tern. She scrutinized him, watched him closely. He stood as if he had swallowed a rather long and large stick. She could see the neck scarf move as his Adam’s apple worked.

She could hear his quenched voice directed only to her through the helmet’s system: “How does she know our language.”

She didn’t have to think long: “Guess those Mando’ade she mentioned. See it as her way to thank us.”

Through her T-visor she eyed the old woman. An off feeling went along her spine when she saw the woman’s black eyes staring directly into her eyes. Her light hair framed her dark face. The longer she looked the calmer she got, it was as if any emotion fled her – a pebble in the waters of a slowly flowing brook.

“ _Ret’urcye mhi_.” The dark booming voice of her father tore her to the surface. With a shake of her head she cast off the lingering clouded feeling.

She was glad when he turned and she quickly followed him. It must have been too quick, because she felt Tern’s hand brush against her arm.

“You okay?”

She thought that she had hid her stupor well enough, he couldn’t see beneath her cloak, her helmet was hiding her face: “Using those medscans again?”

“No. You just …,” he was looking for a matching word: “… _felt_ odd?”

She turned her head to look up at his visor: “Felt _odd_?”

It took all the way to the shuttle until he finally answered: “Odd like … in the temple. You were … here and not here. … Odd. … There was … thought I lost you. … Worse than in the ring … there I knew what happened … in the temple I didn’t. Couldn’t understand it … still don’t.”

She felt his hand slip into hers, intertwining their fingers. He was seeking for something to anchor him. She gave him an assuring squeeze.

When they turned to wave a last time to the townspeople, who had accompanied them to the shuttle, her eyes fell on the woman again – _light_ – _dark_.

She tightened the grip on his hand and felt glad when she felt the steadying hold of his hand on her shoulder. It kept her from shrinking back when the woman stepped up to her, ignoring the looming presences her father to her side and Tern slightly to her back provided.

The smaller woman placed her hand over her _Beskaryc Kar’ta_ and a maelstrom pressed her chest against it. She hadn’t moved an inch, still she felt the pressure of the small hand burning through the Beskar into her chest. It made her inhale in a hoarse gulp.

“The peace you seek is to be found in the knowledge which provides harmony.”

_Yellow – red – orange – blinding laser bolts – flaring detonations – green depths – soaring flames – grey locker – damp heat – blue blaze – green – blue – black._

The hand on her shoulder gripped harder. The hand on her cuirass retreated. Her exhale pushed her back into the here and now.

“We will meet again.”

The people waved a last time, as Tern ushered her into the shuttle. Dazed she went into the cockpit. Her hands knew what they had do. She engaged the engines and when everyone had retreated into safe distance lifted off. No one spoke on the way to her ship and she kept quiet as she linked it to the ship, she didn’t say a word as she went to the cockpit and brought the ship into space.

Her hand lingered over the button to make the ship jump into hyperspace. She let her hand sink without engaging the jump. Pushing herself out of the seat was an effort. She found both men quietly talking in the lounge area.

“I need to … gave us time to … relax.”

“Vayra…” She watched her father rise and it took Tern only a moment longer to do likewise.

“Not now. I … I feel tired.” She shook her head and turned towards her room.

She didn’t see the looks the men exchanged, neither that Tern held the Zabrak back. But when she opened the door to her quarters she saw his shadow hovering next to hers. When she didn’t enter her room he stepped closer. She could feel when his chest rose with his inhale, it was a deep inhale.

“ _Copaanir solus_?” Her brow furrowed. His voice was low, a soft rumble. It spoke of – she was looking for a word as she listened to his slow exhale – _Peace_.

“ _Nayc. Temya'r ti ni_?” She wasn’t sure if he had heard her soft unsure whisper, but her hand that sought his spoke a louder language.

When the door slid close she lingered in the middle of the room. She tried to clear her thoughts, to make her brain work. Wordlessly she let her cloak glide to the ground and started to work off her armour.

Tern picked the cloak up and placed it over a chair. Before her cuirass slipped off he got a hold on it and laid it cautiously on the chair too. It took her a moment to gaze from his visor to his outstretched hands. His fingers curled, once, beckoned to her.

She had to swallow at the tight feeling rising in her throat, but it also stole a small smile on her lips. She held out her arms for him and he didn’t need any words as he undid the Beskar parts and peeled off her gloves.

His curling fingers – she forced herself to cling to this image. Four times within the last few hours had he called to her with the curling of his fingers. She gnashed her teeth, the sounds didn’t make it through the vocoder. She blinked her eyes, the salty pearls didn’t make it through the neck scarf.

She realized that she must have stood for some time when she realized the missing weight on her back. She looked down and saw him keeling, unclasping the cuisses and unlacing the boots. Everything was placed in a neat arrangement on the chair by him.

Then he rose to stand in front of her again. When his hands reached for the dented parts of her helmet she tasted the copper and released her lower lip from its trap between her teeth. His fingers nimbly slipped beneath.

“ _Nayc_.”

“ _Tion’jor, ner meshurok_?”

“ _Shuke_.”

The weight of his helmet as he tilted his head down to rest against hers in a _mirshmure’cya_ grounded her. Her shaking turned to quivers, turned to single shivers. The weight and his soft purr calmed her.

 _“Gar enteyor udes. Gedet’ye._ ”

She felt his boot tip against softly against her still booted toes and inched her foot back. He tipped against her other foot, she inched it back. It was a slow shuffle with which he lured her back until the back of her knees braced against the bedframe.

“ _Gedet’ye,_ _sheb’daab_.”

Her knees buckled and she sat down abruptly, stiffly, as if her feet had been kicked out from under her. Her helmet followed his motion as he knelt down again to pull off her boots. The soft but unrelenting guidance by her shoulders made her sag down, lying on her side. He pulled up the folded covers over her shoulders.

A certainty had spread within her, she couldn’t bear to be alone: “ _Temya'r._ ”

He tilted his helmet, a silent questions. A silent nod was enough for him to start shedding off his armour. Also only in his flight suit he sat down at the edge of the bed. She scooted to make room for him and lifted the blanket.

“Shall I switch off the lights?” Again her silent nod was sufficient. In the darkness that surrounded her she felt the bed dip under his weight.

“Now you can give me your helmet.” In the darkness she felt safe. He waited until he heard the familiar hiss.

“Let me put it down.” For a brief moment his fingers enveloped hers. Then she heard another hiss and soft thud, before he stretched out next to her.

With a _c’me ‘ere_ she was tugged against his chest, warmth surrounded her as he wrapped himself around her. She felt the soothing effect his hand had on her. It was warm as he spread his fingers wide, it was comforting as he rubbed in slow circles.

He stilled when her hand ran down his chest and she felt a shiver ran along form when her leg moved up his thigh. She heard him grunt as her hand fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. His hand moved from her back and caught her leg. She didn’t know what he was doing, he was shifting and then her ankle was caught between his calves. Her hand was entrapped in his.

“Not now. Just rest.”

She had to take several breaths. Didn’t he understand that she needed him right now? Didn’t he feel how desperately her heart beat? Didn’t he know that she wanted him to be closer?

“You are … odd … again. I don’t want to … I want to be … with you … when you are you. …Not like that.“

After another deep breath she understood. He was here with her, filling the void she felt. He was close to her, calming her restlessness. He was giving her everything she needed, to become herself again. without taking anything for his own. She felt his arm tighten round her, pulling her impossibly closer to his side as his fingers wove between hers.

His chuckle was a soft rumble: “Do I make sense?” – _Knowledge_.

He knew her better than she did herself. He understood more of her, of what she really needed than she did herself at the moment.

“ _Lek … Vor’e ... Ori’vor’e_.” He answered her deep sigh with the hum that soothed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cin vhetin: fresh start, clean slate - lit. white field, virgin snow - term indicating the erasing of a person's past when they become Mandalorian, and that they will only be judged by what they do from that point onwards; like the *first turn of the screw cancels all debts* for sailors.  
> goor’verd’ika: little grenadier  
> vaulr: chaos  
> haran: destruction  
> drazutis: destruction (High Sith)  
> buir: parent, father, mother  
> Ret’urcye mhi: Goodbye - lit. Maybe we'll meet again  
> Beskaryc Kar’ta: Iron heart, Beskar heart  
> Copaanir solus: Do you want to be alone  
> Nayc. Temya'r ti ni: No, Stay with me  
> Tion’jor, ner meshurok: Why, my precious (one) lit. my gemstone  
> Shuke: tears  
> mirshmure’cya: Keldabe kiss  
> Gar enteyor udes. Gedet’ye.: You must rest. Please.  
> Gedet’ye, sheb’daab.: Please, sit down.  
> Lek … Vor’e ... Ori’vor’e: Yeah. Thanks. Thanks a lot.


	39. Black is sincerity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> temples should be avoided at all costs, should they?
> 
> from soft to tough, quite some blood and casualties, if it triggers, please be careful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Ayr – Worship the dark https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W6kXisQDAOU  
> 2) Heldom – Myrkr https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tobEpLL8d5U  
> 3) (Fights) Danheim – Hefna https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWKi7mVMbfQ  
> 4) (in front of the temple( Within Temptation – Stand my ground https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q5xvbHvYPlY

An odd feeling, he couldn’t describe it any closer. Just that something was off. It radiated from the way the tall Zabrak behaved in the morning. It spread during the last meeting with the council of Kalish.

It was not only the surprise at being addressed in Mando’a by the oldest council member. It was the way the old woman’s sharp dark eyes never seemed to waver from either of the black armours. First her gaze was on Dargak, then it switched to his daughter.

She was odd. Her motions abrupt and jerky, all fluency was gone. She could hide a lot under that cloak of hers, but not everything was lost on him and he worried. He needed to make sure that she was okay. The intensity she radiated reminded him of the temple in Ossus, he didn’t want her to slip away from him like she had back then.

Finding her hand was only a physical means to keep her with him, to keep close to her. The way her grip tightened on his hand made him believe that she needed it the same way as he did. But he felt her slip into the oddness again, stiffen as the old woman dared to approach her.

He felt the quiver as he made clear to the old woman that he would stand with and beside Vayra Kryban. The dark eyes had only spared a single glance at him and it felt piercing deep into his inner core. She was odd and made everyone feel odd.

All the air he needed seemed to be punched out of his lungs. He wanted to speak up, but not even a growl escaped his throat. His fingers gripped her shoulder harder. All he wanted was to be away from this woman, to put as much distance between her and himself and the Krybans.

He had to pull her back and into the shuttle. But once he had set her into motion she moved of her own accord. Mechanically, but she moved herself the shuttle and then the ship. But even with the distance put between her and the small town she was still odd and distancing herself. It was neither to her father’s nor his liking. He had to do something.

He had to be there for her, he felt he needed to be close to her. It was the only thing he knew he could do for her, unable to understand what was really causing the odd feeling. He wished that his presence would be enough, that she wouldn’t reject it.

There was an uncertainty to her unlike anything he had felt from her. Not even in the temple she had given him the feeling of being that insecure. He used simple handgrips to assist her stripping down to her flight suit, to guide her to the bed and make her lie down

He couldn’t swallow down the tight feeling when she declined to reveal her face. He had seen her tears before. He would not think lesser of her if he saw them this time too, but he respected her wish and didn’t press her. The only thing he could do was provide the environment to help her to find back to herself.

It eased his worries and it let him hope that she wanted him to stay, to be close to her. He felt her soft against him and wrapped his arms around her. The muscles in her back were relaxing under his soft massage.

Then she reacted and he stilled. This wasn’t how he had expected it. This was not what it was supposed to be like. This urgency wasn’t right, it wasn’t her. He had to keep her from doing something that would distance her from him again. He just knew it wasn’t her and she would regret it if he didn’t stop her. He would regret it.

He trapped her leg and her hand and tugged her close to the furnace of his body, stilling her frantic movements. When her breathing and her pulse calmed he was certain that he would have her back. With a smile he relaxed and succumbed to slumber.

A soft knock woke him to complete darkness. Soft warmth was nestled against his chest. With tender fingers he brushed the hair from her neck and placed a kiss on the warm skin.

“ _Ner meshurok._ ” Her hair tingled on his lips as he whispered into her ear. “We have arrived. We need to get ready.”

He felt her stretch along his body before he heard her sleep-filled voice: “Tern?”

“Hmmmm Kryban?” He twitched and growled to the playful slap she gave his hip. But he was silenced when her hand slipped up his side and softly massaged his flank.

“Thank you. … for …” He purred at the softness of her whisper.

“… taking advantage? … Never … _draar_.” Once again he tightened his embrace.

“Want your helmet before I switch on the light?” He was already reaching back and down, fishing for his, feeling for the straighter vertical line of the visor to be sure to put on the right one.

“No, it is okay … I think.”

He couldn’t help himself, he just had to before he enclosed himself behind the Beskar barrier. He was careful, listening to her voice and breathing as he inched closer.

“May I …” He moved close enough to feel her breath fan his chin.

“Hmmmm.”

He was off a few inches and used it to his advantage. Nipping soft kisses along her cheek, down along her jaw, to her chin and up until his lips found hers.

When he broke their kiss he grinned: “And just so that you know, humming is my thing.”

He switched on the light with his helmet secure on his head and opened the door. Dargak was waiting, leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed and legs folded at the ankles.

“We will get ready.” With a nod he confirmed the Zabrak’s inquisitive nod towards the room he had just left that everything was as fine as it could be.

“I’ve landed us in the port of Hyllyard City and had the tanks filled. Used the time to contact the client.”

He was surprised, the Zabrak had been busy some time doing all these things while they still had been sleeping. He seemed rested enough, but he still succeeded to air a sense of restlessness.

“We will need to relocate for the meeting and the job. I’ll get it done while you are getting ready.”

He knew when he was dismissed. Dargak simply left for the cockpit. So all he was left with was returning to the room to put on his armour. He shortly knocked before he let himself in. Vayra was already gearing up. And as she was done faster than him, she helped him with the rest of his armour.

Just to emphasize his point from before he started humming in comfort, but she kept so quiet that he finally asked: “Will you tell me what happened back on Jormark?”

He knew she would not when she pulled his helmet down to her forehead. Still, he wanted and even needed to know, for both their sake: “Later?”

“Yes, maybe later.”

-*-*-*-

Dargak let them get the rest that they needed, especially his daughter. The effect the strange woman had also on her was not lost on him. He had had ideas and fears ever since her very first confrontation with the temple on Ossus, they had been intensified with her second experience. And the way the old woman treated her and with all she had said to him his suspicion had peaked.

He was not at all surprised when he watched Tharam go after her, neither that he also came from her room answering his knock. It comforted him to know that he could rely on the Nevarro warrior. It made it easier for him to prepare their job and approach to the meeting point.

He had found a place on a plain area which gave them a wider look at their surroundings. The high trees and dense forested areas along with forceful gusts of the wind had made him swerve several times and verge from his meeting point several times. It had taken him a while and all of his piloting skills as the sensors and displays had gone completely crazy and he had to rely on visual flight only.

When he sat the ship down and opened the door cool fresh air swept in with a strong gush of wind. The squalls bent the trees, even the tallest bowed their respect to this force of nature. Great ripples ran over the lake over which the sun just rose. The only one unaffected area by the brewing storm was the ridge of the high snow-covered peaks in the distance.

He went to the open hatch and let his eyes roam. Somewhere here his contact had said he would meet them. His eyes swerved several times around the most logical and likely direction where he would come from. Then he saw the swoop bike, its camouflage colour had blended perfectly with the background. Lazily on top reclined the man he was to meet.

-*-*-*-

He watched the unique form of the ship land, it reminded him of a VCX-100 light freighter, but it was hard to say, somehow sleeker and yet higher in its built. It looked as if the original mould had been put through a hammer mill.

When the ramp opened he watched the three figures appear. The initial call hadn’t let anything on about how many hunters he could expect, but a team of three was not as many as he had hoped for.

They were completely geared up. Anyone seeing the three armoured figures in the city would have stopped in their tracks and given them a wide berth. The cloaks and the cape flapped in the wind, partly hiding their rifles slung over their shoulders, partly revealing their guns, secured in their holsters, their blades, hidden in their sheaths.

He unfolded from the swoop bike and studied the approaching figures. The closer they got the more he could make out. One was easily identified with his green-blue Duraplast and Beskar armour and his helmet, a Mandalorian. There were so few that each single one drew eyes immediately, no matter how eye-catching a figure they cut out, and this one was a striking specimen. Tall, at least six feet, wide-shouldered and lean-hipped, a ground-covering walk, determined, yet easy in its flowing motion. Without the bulky armour it might even be called elegant.

The other male was also a head-turning sight, an even taller Zabrak in a black armour. Bulkier than the Mandalorian, but with the same easiness of someone who knows his body well and controlled it effortlessly. He looked twice, he could not only make out the horns but also the red skin and the black tattoos. He wore a black armour, but no helmet. He dismissed his notion, he only knew them to hide their faces behind the infamous T-visored helmets.

The third person captured his light blue eyes. Tall, not yet as tall as the men. Dark cloak, but he saw a glimpse of the dark dull armour. Narrower shoulders, wider hips which gave her walk an alluring fluent roundness, yet the same swagger in their stance, self-confident.

Dark copper hair burnt in the orange rays of the sun. He guessed that it must be long, a strand had escaped the braid, he imagined she must have fixed her hair in. It waved across half of her face, making him concentrate on what he could take in as they stopped before him.

Dark green eyes mustered him firmly in an unreadable, blank expression. Dark as the fir trees surrounding the place they stood in. Dark as a mountain lake in winter. She was gazing at him without blinking and soon he felt hypnotized as he tried to search her pupils for any other colour but that dark green.

Only with her standing that close he could see the scar over her left brow. Then he noticed the white streaks at her temples. He smiled softly, just as him, that was where the grey hit first. He guessed her age to be not older than thirty-five but definitely not younger than twenty-eight. But times were hard and he could be wrong.

He took in more of her face and thought it beautiful and graceful, not in a soft way, but it made him stand taller, straighter. He was captivated by her gaze, her expression – her beauty – he was enraptured. He placed her as an enigma, one he wanted to decipher. But would she be interested in someone who had the thirties behind him? He would leave no stone unturned, he was to enticed by her.

He put on his most dashing smile and stretched out his hand: “Talon Karrde.”

She simple stared him down, ignoring his outstretched hand, her eyes roaming over his figure, taking him in. He was glad he had taken his time grooming himself. He only wished he had not just put on the brown jacket, but his more official garment.

His smile slightly faltered at her failure of reaction. Just then a corner of her mouth tugged up: “ _Echoy_.”

He saw how both men’s heads turned towards her, they were astonished he realized. Had she never given them her name? Were they not a team? They had looked like a team when they had come striding towards him, their guise, their strides and coming to a stop in synch.

It was a strange name. He tried to roll it on his tongue: “Eeh-T-Choy.” He saw how shortly her eyes narrowed and her upper lip twitched in disgust: “I’m butchering it, I’m sorry.”

“Indeed. Butchered beyond recognition.” Her voice was low, a husky rasp, not because she wanted to sound deeper, it came naturally to her. She had an accent, a lilt, he hadn’t heard before, but he wanted to hear more of it.

“I will do my best to make up for it and I promise to learn to say it properly.”

When she didn’t answer he tore his gaze from her and let his eyes wander between the stern look of the Zabrak and the Mandalorian warrior. He had orbited closer to the woman and himself. Both men seemed to exert a protective function, so they were a team. He wondered what their relationship was.

He widened the spreading smile due to his observation and addressed the helmeted man: “And who would you be?”

“A Mandalorian, obviously.” Short, curt and slightly belligerent. He took a mental note that the man might be quite short-tempered.

“Obviously. I take it isn’t you who I spoke to initially?”

“No.”

He turned to the only man left, the Zabrak who nodded in return and spoke up without any further delay: “Zab. We spoke. Our quarry?”

Very punctuated and down to the business, he mused and found that he could come to like the imposing Zabrak: “Your qua … oh yes, why I called you. Pest-control. A pack of Vornskrs which makes certain things here impossible.”

“Vornskrs are native to Myrkr. You should be used to dealing with them. What is the problem?” The Zabrak tilted his head questioningly at him. He was well informed and not to be fooled, but he was careful to let on why he had called for his help.

“These seem to … Well, they are a problem for our hunters. They refuse to go after them after some errmm … incidents. ”

“Incidents?” Her voice made his head towards her again. Her voice was still low, still husky, but a certain hardness had sneaked into it, yet he wanted to hear more of the melody it held.

“Many didn’t come back and those who did … some of them … cracked up.”

The Zabrak was murmuring something he didn’t catch and the Mandalorian’s visor first stared at him and then jerked towards the woman, his distorted voice an urgent mumble. Again in a language he couldn’t understand. It had the sound of what the Zabrak had muttered. He wondered at the implication, were they all using the Mandalorian language, would that actually mean that he was facing not only one but three Mandalorians, but then what about the helmets?

The woman’s eyes had widened for the fracture of a moment and her mouth twitched into a hard line and she looked towards the Zabrak. A wordless conversation passing between them, one he could follow neither.

“We will have a look, but we won’t promise anything. You can stall the payment, until we are successful.” He noted how tense the Zabrak sounded.

“Your expanses so far …” He tentatively inserted. He was ready to pay some advance money.

The Zabrak waved off: “We talk about that … after …” Somehow he got the idea that something distracted the tattooed man, maybe the prospect of some luxury afterwards would persuade them.

“I’d like to welcome you to my home in Hyllyard City, after the job or maybe after you had a first look round. I won’t make you miss anything.” His eyes had returned to the woman, making sure that she heard that his invitation was especially for her. He implored quietly with his eyes, not the least fazed by the three inches she had to him. It was her aura that held him captive, the aloofness she radiated appealed to him. His smile widened as he imagined her losing this indifference.

But she did not even react to this promise of an evening spent in luxury and pleasure. Her mouth hadn’t returned to its fullness, her lips were still taut. Those beautiful lips spread into a smile was something he wanted to see. He racked his brain for an appropriate approach, but fell short. And then the moment was gone.

Just before the three hunters took their leave he remembered something: “Uh, there’s and old temple out there, I’d leave it better alone if I were you.” The remark gave him doubting looks and a tilted Mandalorian helmet, he had to do something to reinforce his remark: “It’s derelict and about to come down any day. Wouldn’t want to be near it myself when that happens.”

When they turned back to their ship his gaze lingered on the woman until the tall frame of the Mandalorian shielded her from his sight. But the ship captured his eyes again. It looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He would have remembered if he had seen it before.

-*-*-*-

She looked to her left. A fond sigh left her. Long had she missed the feeling of working in a team, with a clan. This was as close as she could get to the past. And yet it was so different. It was her _buir_ and … and. She searched for a word, anything but lover, as this seemed not to cover what was between them. They had shared beds, yes. They had shared kisses and touches, yes. She had wanted and helped him to find release, yes. That would be something lovers did, yet … _Harmony_.

The layers of protective gear were in place. She had had her hands on each and every plate, reasserting herself that they were fixed properly. It had made her father grin and she had deliberately tickled him, yes she still remembered where he was ticklish.

When she had ran her hands over the plates covering Tern he had become still like a statue. His chest had barely moved, only his head, he had been constantly watching her. Their weapons had been checked and she had done a re-check on them. When she stepped onto the ramp the strong wind almost took her breath away.

Her father was obviously looking for something or someone as he kept standing on the ramp and simply gazed around. She tugged her cloak tighter, the wind had a certain chill to it. Then she saw what her father had looked out for. A fair skinned man in a brown jacket lined with fur came to a stand next to a swoop bike. His long black hair was straight and his temples were streaked with silver. The closer she got the more piercing the light blue eyes became. They were fixated on her.

He was shorter than her, five foot six ,she guessed from her own height. His lively eyes had skimmed over all three of them, but they lingered on her. She felt more than just observed, but she could stare down a Loth-cat if she had to. He radiated confidence, even arrogance. She realized that he tried to flirt as the smile he flashed at her was supposed to make her favourably disposed towards him.

She swallowed the huff that wanted to be let out and felt irritation wash through her at the outstretched hand. He was ignoring Dargak and Tern completely. At the corner of her eye she saw the almost unnoticeable tensing of muscles that happened underneath the green-blue armour. She allowed a wry grin at Tern’s self-control and she gave Karrde a name. The name she had used with all her clients, with those who had dared to ask for one.

Yet, there was a difference. Sleuth was the Basic codename she had always used. Now, deliberately referring to Mando’a she gave in to the feeling that had conquered her ever since landing on Myrkr. She was fully aware of the double meaning. And her father’s and Tern’s reaction was minuscule, but immediate and made her ponder which meaning they would read out of it.

It was fortunate that their reaction happened deadbeat with the butchering this Karrde did with their language. She was sure this was not the only reason why Tern emitted one wave of irritation after the other. And really she had to control herself to not let any emotions surface. None of the mirth, irritation or adoration she felt at the moment.

“ … Pest-control. A pack of Vornskrs which makes certain things here impossible.” His voice was pleasurable enough but it had an edge to it when he came to the _certain things_. She picked up on it and studied the man closer. There were not many things that drew people Myrkr. For a hunter he was too little guarded, for a downright criminal there was too little menace in him, she was left with the last option: smuggler.

Vornskrs – her father had informed himself as well as she had. Why Denx had thought it a place to settle on was suddenly beyond her understanding. Maybe it was the prospect of a continuous hunt. Had he known that they were about to extend their clan-to-be, he might have reconsidered.

Vornskrs were a species not to be underestimated. But the _incidents_ Karrde was referring to … she had a notion to turn on her heels and leave Myrkr right away. The smuggler’s voice had slightly changed its tone, he was rather economical with the truth.

When she inquired the man immediately concentrated on her again. His eyes lit up and she got the impression that they got even lighter in colour, of course it was only due to the sun gaining more strength in its rise.

“ _Va jate par mhi, Vay_.”

“ _Meg garay ibac tid'ica_?”

Her mask fell for a second and all she could do, was to reset it, to not let the inner storm out which her father had manage to conjure. She had a vague image of what it could mean for her to confront these animals, or better to be confronted by them. But he had said spoken of them, he had used the plural, yet he had excluded Tern. She wanted to look longer at him, read him, ask him, but that was not possible in front of the man she knew nothing about.

But the smuggler had seen it, her grimace and her quick look towards Dargak. He might not know what was going on, but he was clever enough to understand that something was in the wind. She had never heard of Dargak or any other hunter to take this half-step back from a job. So far only she had allowed herself the quirk to refuse a job at the last minute, to demand further insight. Yet, her father was just doing that. Keeping a way open, admitting, without wording it, that the job might not find a successful end.

Dargak was afraid – no, not afraid – not her _buir_ – he was wary of something. He was reluctant in the acceptance of the job and how to approach it. She felt a sigh burning in her throat which she couldn’t let go. Not in front of the smuggler. She knew Dargak was doing the right thing, being cautious. Her guts told her that he was right.

“Uh, there’s and old temple out there, I’d …” A temple, her innards churned and wanted to spiral down into the abyss that had opened within her. _Not again a temple_! She started to hate these things, no matter which planet she was on. Already thinking about the old building made her mind go blank and reel at the same time. – _Focus_.

She was staring past the smuggler into the forest, mentally going through all the gathered information. They needed a plan, good offences and defences and a quick way out should it come to the worst. She heard the smuggler’s invitation float past her ears, but her mind was too preoccupied. All she wanted was to go back to the ship, start with the job, be done with it and get off this damned planet again.

When they were back on the ship they gathered round the map spread on the table of the lounge area. The outlines of the city was marked with a large blue circle to the far right bottom corner, in the opposite corner a smaller red, crossed out circle was marked with the word _temple_. The natural landmarks like the high peaks of the mountains and the lake were also included on the map. Several small red crosses marked where the other hunters had come across the animals they were to hunt too.

Dargak pointed at a cluster of red crosses which were close to the top left corner, not far away from the temple. The farther away it was from the temple the less crosses were indicated on the map.

“Something draws them there.” He pointed at the cluster. “We should start right there and get it over with.”

His eyes roamed over the map, his fingers traced the different marks: “Doesn’t look like we can get the ship anywhere close. Forested area all over there. Maybe there, seems to be on a higher level.”

Her father looked up from the map and fixated her with his eyes: “Where’s …”

She didn’t need him to continue to know what he wanted know: “Not on the map. Beyond there.” She pointed off to the far right on the table. She was glad that the little valley with the mountain range was not on the map.

She sighed warily. She had hoped that he might have forgotten, but of course he hadn’t. With some luck the hunt might divert his attention enough to let the topic of the armours slip past her.

They tried their luck with the slope. It was a tight fit and required all her skills with the wind coming in from the side. Once landed he immediately engaged the ground security and the cloaking system. Never would she have left her ship at the meeting place and neither did she want to have it out in the open here.

She left the men to the task of moving the rest of their equipment and arsenal, which they wanted to bring along, to the shuttle. It was much smaller and they wanted to try to bring it closer to the spot on the map where the red crosses clustered.

Again and again she tried the sensors, somehow it was fun to watch the ever changing results, the colourful flickering of the different symbols. At least it kept her mind from overthinking while she was waiting. The noises the men made in the compartment behind her stopped, but the hand on her shoulder startled her nevertheless. Her father gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“We are ready. Let’s find a place somewhere here.”

He sat down in the co-pilot’s seat and navigated her. No matter how tall and dense the trees grew, she could make out the flattened stone top of the building in a distance. She pressed her lips together as she looked at her father. He inhaled deeply and nodded seriously.

“I know. Feels strange. We will manage.”

With just these few words he had managed to settle the coil in her stomach somewhat. It was not gone completely, but it felt easier to breathe, easier to form thoughts.

“Well, then let’s get over with it.” She had to will her out of the seat and open the hatch.

-*-*-*-

He heard them talking quietly. Though he didn’t hear the words, the tone was enough. Both were wary and the feeling they spread started to settle in his stomach. Even before a difficult hunt he had not been that nervous. Bounty hunting was never easy, people no matter their species or their crime, could be unpredictable. But there was always a range of possibilities which he could work with, plan ahead and get prepared for.

With hunting the Vornskrs he had nothing. He know how nocturnal pack hunters worked, but something of the information Karrde had let drop made him think, that there was more to them. And he didn’t like the options he went through, too much was left to the unknown.

He had prepared the three large rucksacks with the provisions, ammunition and the gear to camp out in the wilderness. He had made sure that one of the packs was lighter, he didn’t mind the few extra pounds on his shoulders.

He was waiting for the Krybans to make their appearance from the cockpit. He held their helmets out to them when they joined him. He glanced at her face before her tight-set lips vanished behind the helmet and followed them out of the shuttle.

They set out with an easy pace, studying the map and comparing it with their position. Slowly they were reaching their first destination, the first mark on the map. After so many weeks there were no tracks left, it was almost a place like any other. Just bushes, trees, if it hadn’t been for a patch of brown earth were a flat pit had been dug, some torn grass and trampled mud. All this spoke of an old camp.

After a short break they went on, heading towards the next cluster of red crosses on the map. Unfortunately none of the crosses told how many time had passed between the marking and their arrival there. It was game of pure luck. And luck wasn’t on their side.

At the third and fourth old camp he searched the perimeters to no avail. Not even the slightest hint could be made out. Then at the fifth abandoned camp he found tracks, imprints of large paws with three enormous claws. He followed them as they circled farther and farther away from the camp.

When he came back to the camp Dargak had already marked their next destination. A look at the map told him that they were working along the inner circle of the clustered crosses leading around the crossed out area of the temple.

Then the sixth site was a hit. There were not only all the indications of an abandoned camp, which they had found all the times before, and tracks, loads of them, but also a more gruesome finding. There had been six of them. Two torn remains of the hunters were close to the place where they had had their fire. Four mangled forms lay more to the side, their sleeping place had become their grave.

He started his circling search, just as he had done at the other camps. Farther and farther the tracks led him, then he stumbled across body number seven, marred beyond recognition. He was not squeamish, but this made him rise his eyebrows and look away as soon as he had gathered the information he needed.

The tracks were the freshest they had come across so far. He switched his HUD settings to infrared and the reading made him look around. He did a full circle to make sure he hadn’t missed any heat signature before he returned to the other track which led into the undergrowth.

He continued and followed the broad trail of something heavy having been dragged into the scrub. The sentry had not been alone and he was looking for the eighth member of the hunting party. Soon the grinding marks were dotted with a small trickle of dark dried mud, soon it turned into one with a broad smear, a bloody trail leading up to the rests of strewn about gnawed on bones. He swallowed hard and looked around for more evidence.

Then a loud crack invaded the audio systems of his helmet. Before he could turn around fully a heavy weight knocked into him. His blaster dropped from his numbed arm and he was borne down with a massive maw filled with razor sharp fangs snapping at his head. The metal of his helmet rang as the teeth connected with it.

He punched at the menacing eye and activated his flamethrower as soon as he gained a few inches, singing the raging animal’s belly and chest. Screeching it backed off, but its tail swished round and slapped at his pauldron.

He threw his torso back and his hip forward as he put all the strength he had into the kick. It sent the beast flying and it tumbled into another one, another fast approaching one. The started fighting one another, snarling and snapping, blood-freezing howls and flesh-tearing teeth.

He quickly reset his attention, his hand flew to his helmet: “Vornskrs incoming from one hundred.” He went for his dropped gun and backed away from the fighting creatures towards the next tree and reached for one of the low-hanging big branches.

The Zabrak was quick to answer, his voice strained: “Copy, got visitors already.”

The two canine beasts were still at each other’s throats. Froth-coated plump maws tore at the flesh of its pack member, whip-like tails lashed at its opponent. The newcomer was getting the upper hand and he heard the sickening sound as its fangs closed and tore at the throat of the singed, inferior beast. 

The winner swung its massive head towards him, eyes bloodshot, maw dripping with froth and the blood of its own kind, ears flattened against its head, tail whipping from side to side, gaining in momentum. He levelled his gun, he had only one shot, most likely, he had to make it count.

He didn’t know anything about how thick their skulls were, the slug might not make it past the bone, the eyes were small and the beast too animated for a clean shot. Chest was his only option, but not an instant kill.

He had made his decision, not a second too late. The creature leaped, he shot and swung himself upwards. The fangs clicked close on thin air, just where he had been, if he hadn’t saved himself into the tree. He shot again, this time aiming for the oh so close head. The beast fell and he shot again, it was dead. Not even a ripple moved through the prominent muscles.

He swung down and sprinted off, back to where he had left the Krybans: “Done. Incoming now.”

He didn’t get an answer, only sounds of heavy breathing, dull sounds of shots and again short commands. It was enough to make him dig out his reserves of strength and race faster. He started to realize how far he had ventured in his pursuit of the two sentries and swore.

He sprinted even faster, jumping over or breaking through the low bushes, when he heard their curses and short commands. Then he heard the yell of Dargak. And when he broke through the undergrowth he targeted the first snarling beast.

They had cornered Vayra and her father. The Zabrak’s left arm hung limply, but in his right he had the glinting Beskar axe. His arm swung down and split the skull of the creature, which hung on his thigh, in half. Even in death the beast clung to his leg and a last whip of its tail landed on the Zabrak’s right shoulder.

In horror he watched as the axe slipped from the man’s stunned arm. He started shooting and ran over to him and positioned himself between the advancing two Vornskrs and the Zabrak. The tall warrior was weakened and slid down the tree he was leaning against.

Showering the area where the two beasts where approaching from with slugs kept them at bay. A quick bend and he grabbed the axe, shoved it towards the sitting Zabrak. A quick look to make sure how Vayra was holding herself up. She was confronting another pair of Vornskrs, but her shots kept them on the defence so far.

For him plenty of time. He swiped his rifle forward, feeding it the large cartridges. Now he knew, their skulls were not resistant, aimed, shot – one, two – he swerved and aimed for the two on Vayra’s side. One was already down, he went for the last Vornskr, aimed, shot.

They kept their defence against the trees. Not another attack yet. He tried to slow his breathing. He could already feel the adrenaline wearing off and it made him feel giddy. He sucked it up and concentrated first on the surroundings, his visor only showed dark blacks and no red heat signatures. Next he turned his attention to Vayra. The only thing he heard was her fast breathing, but it was slowing down with no immediate danger.

They had made it and come out of it unscathed, then a groan of pain made him remember they hadn’t. Both their heads swirled back and down to look at her father. He was still slouched against the tree, clutching his leg just under his cuisse.

“I stand watch, you treat him.” He checked on his gun and readied hers, placing it next to him. His eyes trained on his surroundings, he only spared a look now and then. His quick glances told him that she had started to treat the wound.

“Make a soap solution and then disinfectant. If it is what I fear then we need to get the virus out before it spreads.”

Her mouth was set tight, she nodded and went to work. He unclasped his water canteen and held it out to her.

“The more soap solution the better, irrigate it, use all the water.”

She had removed the Zabrak’s cuisse and poleyn. Abrasions of the paint showed where the long fangs had dug in. She used the vibroknife to slice open the fabric of his suit exposing the wound.

“How deep is it?”

“The Beskar helped. Not too deep.”

He blew out the breath which he hadn’t realized he had held: “Good. Still, rinse well. Then disinfect.”

When she used the soap solution the harsh breathing turned into suppressed groans of pain. They rasped through the vocoder and made it crackle. Without leaving his eyes from their environment he dug into her backpack and handed her the medkit.

She stared up to him then ripped it open agitatedly, mumbling to herself and prepared a syringe.

His head turned sharply when he heard a rustling. Three red signatures were creeping closer: “Incoming three.”

“I’m working as fast as I can.” Her voice came pressed as a hiss through the modulator of her helmet.

He didn’t wait for the signatures to come closer and lifted his gun. Adjusting the scope he prepared his shot. When his finger curled around the trigger a yelp and snarling answered the sound of the shot. The two remaining were turning on their pack member. He didn’t care if he had killed or wounded it. Even if only wounded the other two would make sure it would be dead in the end.

He waited and kept his firing position. He would be ready when they were done with the carcass, then he would pick the next one. It would give them more time. Meanwhile the process of treating the Zabrak had reached the next stage. Vayra was disinfecting the punctures. Then she took out an ampoule from her medkit.

He didn’t ask what it was she filled the syringe with it, he only hoped it helped her father. His worry for him was diverted by the two red signatures prowling closer again. His trigger finger curled and he watched the result through the scope. Then he saw them. More heat signatures.

“ _Haar’chak_! _Val osik’la_! _Shab_! _Shab_! _Mi shabla_! _Di’kutla chaklaar‘e_! _Bic ni skana’din_! More of this Hutt-spawn is coming.”

“What?” She didn’t look at him, fully concentrated on treating her father, when she heard his colourful curse.

“ _Tok’kad_! _Jii_! There are more. We have to get moving and you won’t like my plan.”

“Which is?” He heard her suspicion, but it was the only reasonable and reachable destination, given their situation. It was closer than the shuttle.

“We have to retreat to the temple. Find an entrance or a place accessible only from one side. Only way we can keep them back.”

“We are not going there!” He heard the panic in her voice, but their time was running short.

“ _GEV_! WE. ARE.”

Now she did look at him and he was glad that he couldn’t see her expression. It was the first time that he had raised his voice against her, the first time he had shouted at her. He felt his neck heat up as the shame crept into his heart. But now was no time for shame or a discussion.

“ _Ke serim_! Keep them in line and I take your father! Get. Moving! NOW!”

She must have heard the urgency, even panic, in his voice because she rose and took his place. When she inhaled sharply he knew that she understood his decision.

“ _Hukaat'kama_! Shoot one, the rest will pounce on it.”

He handed her his gun and crouched down, slung Dargak arm over his shoulder and helped the Zabrak to a stand. He supported him as the wincing man hobbled in the direction he led.

“ _K'oyacyi_ , Dargak!”

It was slow progress, a quick look back told him that much. Vayra took one Vornskr after the other down. They had stopped devouring their fallen mates and made do with just killing them off completely if they were only wounded.

He bent low along the taller man’s side, wrapped his arm round his unwounded leg and pulled at the same time on his arm, using the momentum he holstered him up onto his shoulders. He started to jog as soon as he had the heavier man securely slung around his neck. He had to rely on his memory, they had no time to check if they were on the right way.

Soon the weight of the Zabrak had an impact on him. His jog slowed to a fast paced walk and he was panting with each step. At least the slower speed was easier on the hurt man. Getting jostled with each step had audibly sent jolts of pain through him.

“Mar’e!”

He could see the stones of a high wall, his instinct had led him correctly. Vayra overtook him with a sprint and positioned herself next to the wall, shooting past him as he stumbled more than walked up to her.

“ _Vaii yarsa_?”

He staggered along the wall. There had to be a gate, a door, any kind of entrance. He felt desperation find its way into his heart. They had to find something, they would be lost without a place retreat. When he came to the end of the wall he still couldn’t see anything that would gain them access. And they had run out of time, his heart sunk in realisation. They had come to the end of their hunt.

He heard the growls, even the snapping of their huge fangs. He crouched and quickly but carefully set Dargak to the ground and propped him up against the wall. Drawing his blaster he aided Vayra in shooting the constantly closer coming beasts. More and more he could see stalking towards them.

He shot Vayra a look and wished he could see her face, wished that she had seen his face.

They shared a nod. It was their last hunt, their last stand.

“ _Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum_.” She should hear it, at least once. She should hear his heart and voice speak these words, at least once. Forever would be short for him, for them. But his last words had to be the words of the love he felt for her, something he would take him into the Manda.

No more words were needed. He let the rucksack glide to the ground and rose to a stand unholstering the second blaster. With a deep inhale he filled his lungs and let the anger and adrenaline flood him.

“ _Oya_!” His challenging call was even deafening in his ears.

He started shooting with both blasters.

Shoot – step forward – shoot.

He was taking as many with him as possible. If it were enough _they_ could make it.

Shoot – step forward – shoot.

“NO! Tern, no!”

He picked up pace.

Shoot – step forward – shoot.

If he was far enough away from _them_ , the beasts might concentrate on _him_ enough so that she could kill off the rest while they were hopefully busy with … _his_ body.

Shoot – step forward – shoot.

He heard her astonished scream.

“Dargak!? _Buir_?!? Where? … Who are you?”

Shoot – step forward – shoot.

He lost the ground under his feet.

He was flung backwards, all air left him when he hit the wall.

His head was slammed into the wall.

He grunted with a sickening feeling rising from his guts.

It must be the effect of hitting the wall, the beginning of a concussion. It was the only reasonable explanation for what he dimly saw as he slid down the wall. The Vornskrs were flaying in the air, pawing at nothing but thin air and then, pulled just like him, away from them, away from the temple, flung back into the forest where they had come from.

He staggered to a stand, but there was blackness, unevenness, all around him.

He fell visor-first down into the blackness.

-*-*-*-

Feeling a certain tension before a hunt was good, it kept one’s senses alert, but what she felt was more than any tension she had felt on her hunts before. The initial hours had been absolutely uneventful. A normal hiking trip would have been more interesting, but the tension never left her.

The finding of the first camp told them nothing, just that it was an old abandoned camp, neither did the next three sites. She felt her patience getting short, this was all a load of Bantha-shit and a waste of time.

But then, at the fifth abandoned camp, Tern called them to something he had found and she felt everything in her go still. The camp had been newer, about a week old, as old as the imprints of large paws that covered the whole area.

While the Tern took up tracking them she and her father tried to find out with how many individual beats they could be dealing with. It was a hopeless task. Too many were overlaying, they had come and gone the same way, and most had been made unreadable by something dragged over them.

She looked down to where her father was crouching with the laid out map. The camps they had already searched had been crossed out by him and she could see how much closer they already had got to the ring marking the temple area.

“Can we please not go any closer to that temple?”

He sighed defeatedly: “ I do not like it either. There is something and it makes the hair on my neck stand. One last camp. If I’m right, we only need one more.”

“What makes you so sure?” He didn’t want to look at her , not even with his helmet hiding his face and all of a sudden if felt like she didn’t know her father at all.

“Since Jormark, you have been different since Jormark. What has happened there?” She ended in a whisper as if it was a secret no one else should hear.

“Yes, Jormark … We have to talk about it. But not here or now. We need a safe place … more time. It has to do with what happened to you in the temple on Ossus and my past.”

It was like a hit to the guts when she realized that he had never talked about his past, that she actually didn’t know anything about it. She had always presumed that he had never been anything else than a Mandalorian and he had never said otherwise.

They both went quiet when the Nevarro brave came back and briefed them. She mulled over what her father had indicated and said, tried to find explanations, hints, anything that would brighten his innuendo, she even went so far as to make up scenarios in her mind about what he might possibly have meant.

She was so deep into unwinding one fantastic explanation after the other that she only woke up daydreaming when she heard the men curse. The sixth camp was gruesome and reeked with death. Only a few days old she guessed when she looked at the stadium of the rests of the bodies.

Again Tern went on his scouting and she watched her father’s calculations.

“I know. One more.” She sighed heavily. Continuing was only logical, they had come closer and closer to the kills and therefore to the Vornskrs, but also closer to the temple.

“We should bury them.”

Dargak turned to her and tilted his helmet: “And who is going to dig a hole big enough for six?”

She briefly thought: “We are in a forest and we’ve got flamethrowers, could make a pyre. It doesn’t sit well with me that they should lie around and rot like this.”

Again she felt his eyes studying her: “Maybe you are right. I’ll bring the two, get ready with the four.”

She was glad that she had gloves on and made sure that she covered the parts of the bodies she touched with the dry ends of the blankets they still lay on. Not much was required to have them moved and Dargak, being as carefully as she, already dragged the remains of the first body over. Having it placed close enough he made off for the second body.

She simply draped dry wood over the bodies, anything dry enough she piled up to a heap. It was not stylish but it would be effective.

“Vornskrs incoming from one hundred.” Tern’s voice came clear through her audio systems and she whipped around, facing the direction he had given. Nothing was to be seen there. Then hell broke loose.

Her father let go of the body he was pulling by its boot and whipped out his blaster: “Copy, got visitors already.”

“First mine.” She started shooting at the closest of the four snarling creatures, downing it.

“Second mine.” She saw her father change is aim as he announced his target.

“Got two coming.” Two more came at her, she had to change her range to get them into her reticle. She aimed for the faster one. Its tongue lolling out to one side of the frothed fang as it raced towards her.

One down, the other readied itself to leap at her. Adrenaline pumped through her veins and she had to steady her aim for the second beast. They looked unearthly in their bloodlust.

“Two down, three more coming.” She heard him curse as he was pressed hard.

She missed, had to pull the trigger a second time. The muzzle of her gun followed the leaping beast, she saw the slug’s impact in a spray of red and grey matter. It fell, midleap, as if it had hit an invisible wall, to her feet, its tail swished past her side.

“Done. Incoming now.” Tern announced his arrival and assistance. She welcomed it.

She swivelled back to where her father was fighting. He had downed two and was shooting at the other three. The distance where the animals fell got shorter and shorter.

“Take the right one.” She levelled her gun and shot. She didn’t question her father’s decision to pick the one furthest away for her as a target. She already aimed for the next, working her way from right to left.

“Haar’chak! Another four!”

Her heart leapt. Where was Tern, he had said he would come.

The predators were close, they had used their diverted attention to creep closer on the far left side. She had to change her position quickly to get a clear range. She couldn’t shoot past her father, the danger to hit him was too great.

Two were getting too close, desperately she aimed for the one she could reach from her position. She had no time to wonder why she only heard her blaster fire, she only saw the tail of the other one lash at her father, she heard his grunt. He staggered back to get more distance between him and the approaching beasts.

She squeezed the trigger, but the beast followed her father, she only hit its flank as she saw the glint of the battle axe in her father’s hand, then he screamed in pain. The fang had closed round his lower thigh. The dull sound of the axe connecting with the beast’s head sounded loud in her ear, louder sounded his moan of agony as the animal twitched and lashed its tail around as a last act of life.

Her inhale turned into a high-pitched whine as she saw her father losing the grip on his axe. Her legs didn’t want to carry her as she wobbled forward, towards him. But then Tern broke through the undergrowth and guarded Dargak.

Only a dark growl of rage warned her of the next volley. She tore her eyes from her father to confront the oncoming Vornskrs. _Shoot_ – _kill them_ – _only then you can assist your father_. Shooting had become mechanical task.

Knowing that Tern had positioned himself in front of her hurt father helped her to find the strength to keep going. She didn’t see that Dargak had slid down the tree, she only heard the continuing blaster fire behind her, and it was comforting for her.

It was a haze, the air before her eyes was whirring and then there was silence. No growls, no barks no snapping sounds, no gunfire. She heard herself breath raggedly. It was over.

Her father was hurt and she heard his modulator rattle with the sounds of agony. Blood was seeping and staining his torn leg, oozing between his fingers where he clutched it. She stumbled towards him. Tern would keep his post as sentry.

He guided her through the treatment, gave her his water canteen, and with his quiet voice he was her bastion of calm. He had a notion – a virus – and it made her brain work high-speed as she treated her father and went through all known viruses and diseases, old and new.

First she was relieved to see that both cuisse and poleyn had kept the long fangs at bay, but the incisors had found their way into his flesh. Her fingers were shaking as she cut the suit open. Her vision got blurry as she prepared the soap solution, but she kept working.

Cleaning and washing out the wound until the solution did no longer turn pink. Applying the disinfectant. She had to ignore the sounds that came from beneath the glossy black helmet, or her hands would fail her.

Then something waved and she saw it only in the corner of her eye. Tern was waving her medkit at her. _You will know its usefulness when the time is right._ The elder on Jormark, she had insisted that she took the ampoule and she turned it in her fingers so she could read the tiny red label – _RabImGL_ – and readied the syringe.

As if the pressure of treating her father hadn’t been enough, Tern had to announce that even more of those rabid creatures were trying to reach them. Only knowing his true aim made her calm enough to inject the content of the ampoule into and around the seeping wounds.

The snarls her audio system picked up came from afar, the Vornskrs, and they came from next to her, her father and Tern who coloured it with a range of curses. It dawned on her that as long as they stayed here they would be prone to more and more attacks.

But where to go? They would be too slow. It would take for her father’s condition to improve, even with the help of the Bacta and Kolto which she had applied before she wrapped the bandage round his leg.

His plane was outright crazy – retreat to the temple – what did he think … he had been with her on Ossus. She couldn’t help the rising panic that seeped into her voice.

And then he shouted at her in a raging voice. Loud, commanding, leaving no space for argument, menacing, dominating. It blinded and stunned her. She was barely able to breath through her open mouth as she stared up at him and he continued to boss her around. Numbed she rose and not only looked up at him and then past him.

More were coming. He was right. More were coming and after that again more and more. Here they had no chance to survive.

And when he shoved both rifles into her hands to have his hands free to hoist her father she knew her task. It gave her something to divert the numb feeling both men had created in her, to concentrate on something else than the pain her father emanated and the domination Tern exuded.

Her father limped along Tern’s side, so slow, so painstakingly slow. Most of the time she could walk backwards, pick the next animal and shoot it. As told she didn’t care whether she actually killed or only wounded it. When the beasts didn’t stop to tear at their dead anymore she only went for injuring shots, aiming for shoulders and flanks. That way they at least slowed to kill their own off.

Stomping feet made her look back, turn and run after Tern. Again and again she stopped to squeeze fshots, never letting Tern gain too much distance, but keeping as much distance as she dared between her and him, and her groaning father. His noises made clear that it was a rough ride for him.

“Mar’e!”

She looked back at the sigh of relief that Tern let go and her stomach sunk. But it couldn’t be helped, she had to cover the last distance running. The wall would cover their backs at least. But he didn’t stop, he followed the long side of the wall and around the corner along the short side.

She realized he had been looking for a way in. But there were only hewn large stones forming the impregnable wall. When she heard his blaster she knew that he had sat her father down on the ground. They had to decimate the oncoming flood of raging beasts. They had come from everywhere, there seemed to be no end to their numbers.

She looked over to him and saw him nod – _our last stand_ – then she heard his voice clearly via the helmet’s system.

It sounded hoarse and intense: “ _Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum_.” She froze. He had never said these words. Never confessed his love with words. Why now, she didn’t want to think about what had made him say the words finally. She fought against the storm that rose in her guts.

She swallowed and when he focused to the front she concentrated on her targets again. Then she heard his roar.

“Oya!”

She had to look twice, to blink to understand the incredible that was taking place. Tern was using both his blasters. His aim steady and deadly and he was advancing. Each shot took out a Vornskr, each step took him farther away from her, each shot reduced their attackers, each step brought him closer to the creatures, closer to the bloody frothing fangs.

He was leaving her to make his last stand. He had proclaimed his love and now he was leaving her.

“NO! Tern, no!”

Love – Loss – Panic – Pain

The realisation ripped her apart, tore into her core and threatened to strangulate her.

He was leaving her out of love, to give her more time, to sacrifice himself.

She wanted to go after him, but what about her father? Her father?! Tern had sat him down, propped up against the wall. But where he had been there was only emptiness. Her father was gone.

Desperation – Panic – Loss

“Dargak!? _Buir_?!? Where? …”

No Vornskr had come near them, he couldn’t have been dragged off. She felt even more torn, Dargak gone all of a sudden, Tern making his way towards the prowling predators. She wanted to breathe, to inhale but she pulled on nothingness.

Stillness – Motionlessness – Calmness

No shots, no movements, no panic.

Just this slim blonde, slightly younger man dressed in a simple black shirt, black trousers and black boots who studied her with serious blue eyes.

“… Who are you?”

Where he had come from? When had he arrived? Why hadn’t she seen him coming?

He didn’t say anything, but his eyes bore into her and she felt as if every single feeling she had ever felt was pulled upwards and examined. It climaxed into two prominent emotions.

Love – for Dargak – the man who had raised her as her father. Love – for Tharam Tern – the man who had quietly made his way behind her walls.

Pain – for Denx Duanuawr – the man whose love she had lost. Pain – for Jurann and Mayh – the people she had loved like a family. Pain – for Dargak – who had got injured and who she had just lost.

The man’s eyes scrutinized her, widened, narrowed. With a barely discernible nod his gaze slowly moved from her to the man who was approaching the Vornskrs behind her back, the man she hadn’t answered in his confession of love, the man she would never be able to tell that she did love him.

She tore her eyes from the stranger and turned to find Tern – _pain_ – _love_ – _loss_ – _chaos_. It tore her into a whirlwind, everything turned around her in an ever faster getting spiral.

She felt sick. She got sick. Ripping off the helmet she sank to her knees. Heaving was laborious, cost all what was left of her energy. It left her groaning as she fell over on her side and into darkness.

-*-*-*-

He was reading in the old book he had found in the unground hall of the large temple on Ossus. To decipher the old script was tedious work and had already kept him busy for weeks, but the Force helped him. His hide-out in the temple would have been boring, but while reading the old lore he had almost forgot about time.

He was again using the Force. He had to concentrate on the words and it didn’t take him long to find out that he was reading a poem. It made it even harder for him to understand the meaning, but the topic seemed interesting enough. Reading about the gods of old was a less dry topic than then contradicting story of the origin of the cosmos.

He hadn’t known that a poem could be so descriptive when it came to gods slaying each other – _Pain_.

But not all the gods were at each other’s throat and his cheeks heated up – _Love_.

His head perked up – _panic_ – _pain_ – _love_ – _loss_ – _chaos_. Momentarily he got dizzy with the swirl and strength of emotions that flooded freely and invaded him. It was not in the book, it was at his threshold. Something, no someone was throwing out a tornado of emotions and he had to see who it was.

He had thought himself alone, thought that everyone had been slain. But there was someone who literally pushed into the Force with all their strong feelings, raw and untamed and on the verge of … he shuddered.

He tapped the hidden mechanism and the solid walls of the temple silently reclined. He hard learnt to shield himself after he had found out that the planet’s predator had a preference for Force-users. But this being was a bonfire at night. He halted and watchfully reached out, not one two. The second just dim beneath the raging fire of feelings.

The prone Zabrak was barely conscious, but heavy as he dragged him back behind the walls into safety. What he felt from him was not dark, but definitely not light either. It was an unfathomable wavering in between. If he had to give it a colour he would have chosen a pale or off colour, or just grey.

But it was not for him to decide that and he went out again just to be confronted with a glinting red visor – _panic_. He had heard her call for Dargak Buir and he assumed that that must have been the name of the Zabrak.

He reached out to the Force and to her - _chaos_. Installing quietness and peace - _harmony_.

“… Who are you?”

He was overwhelmed with the onslaught she sent out, it was too much and he singled out to of the motions which seemed to rage the greatest war within her – love and pain – and he could see them, those she linked with these feelings.

He quickly let go of the menacing emotion, the dangers lurking beneath it too threatening. The more comfortable emotion had the Zabrak also appear and he recognized him immediately. But there was someone else and he linked the emotion the figure shooting his was towards the Vornskrs.

Then he understood the feeling of panic and loss completely and he acted. He could use her tampering with the Force to his advantage, to support him was he willed the beasts and the man to a stop.

It was raw and unpredictable what he tapped at and pulled along with his threads of the Force.

It was too much. Animals and man alike hovered and flayed at the empty air.

It was too much as he pulled at the field around the armoured man and he crushed against the walls of the temple. He steeled himself against the sound of the impact and hoped that the armour had protected the man.

For the Vornskrs it couldn’t be too much and he used what she offered to fling them back into the forest. Not all would survive and if none he wouldn’t shed a tear.

He could draw back from her and the Force and concentrate on who he had just saved. The armoured man was coming up again. He was relieved until he staggered forward, fell like a stone and lay still.

He could hear her heave even beneath the helmet, he didn’t want to imagine anyone getting sick under such a helmet. But she tore it off, her face partly hidden behind a dishevelled braid. He could feel her retreat from the Force and it took him a moment to realise that she also had slipped into unconsciousness.

He sighed, another two dead-weights to drag behind the safety of the temple’s wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ner meshurok: my precious (one) lit. my gemstone  
> echoy: searcher, search; also mourn  
> Va jate par mhi, Vay: Not good for us, Vay.  
> Meg garay ibac tid'ica?: What does that mean?  
> buir: parent, father, mother  
> Haar’chak! Val osik’la! Shab! Shab! Mi shabla! Di’kutla chaklaar’e! Bic ni skana’din!: Damn it! They are messed up! Fuck! Fuck! We are fucked up! Stupid bitches! That really ticks me off!  
> Tok’kad! Jii!: Retreat! Now!  
> Gev: Stop it! Pack it in!  
> Hukaat'kama!: Watch my six!  
> K'oyacyi!: Hang in there! Lit. Stay alive ! (command)  
> Ke serim!: Take aim!  
> Mar’e! Finally! At last! (expression of relief)  
> Vaii yarsa? Where is the entrance?  
> Oya: Many meanings: lit. “Let's hunt!” and also “Stay alive!”  
> Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum: I love you eternally/forever  
> buir: parent; father, mother


	40. Black can be a discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some goodbyes are quick, some take years, some revelations are helpful, others slam a door shut
> 
> sorry, got carried away, this the longest chapter I've ever posted, but it somehow made sense and I couldn't find a proper cut, now you have to live with 20+k words to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song list will follow but for the burial and the lament listen to:  
> 1) (in the temple / meeting) Kamelot – My confession https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oSylbQEHhVo  
> 2) (Vay&Thar) Clanad – I will find you https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CI7Fo4p0v8  
> 3) (Dargak & rescuer) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MjdrQPu6cg  
> 4) (Dargak&Vayra&Tharam) Les Friction – This is a call https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Z8VG6hIZoQ&list=RDtbz355PwFl4&index=4  
> 5) (Vay) Soul Extract – LEGION https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RSeT9bhL6Xs&list=RDtbz355PwFl4&index=5  
> 6) (Dargak’S POV) End of Silence - Entropy https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_85vWfOkBxw&list=RDtbz355PwFl4&index=24  
> 7)  
> Burial:  
> (Preparations) Enya Exile https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fhLhAK780aI&list=PL60K6RNy0N6yhgiTpc_DVCaZeMBam27dJ&index=5  
> ! Dargak’s song: Jessi Harlin - Aay'han: A Mandalorian Funeral Chant https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l7f-HvIKYzs&list=TLPQMTEwODIwMjAA3OD5qfKKCA&index=3  
> Watching the flames: (Thar&Vay at burial) End Of Silence - Andrew's Song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xrcD1WxxKfU  
> (Departure) Enya – on your shore https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fhLhAK780aI&list=PL60K6RNy0N6yhgiTpc_DVCaZeMBam27dJ&index=5  
> 8) (Hyllyard City Thar’s POV) LOVE & WAR - Beautiful Music Mix https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bAUZ67Sa4kg

The Zabrak had been heavy enough and it was not only because of his armour. The man himself was tall and heavy. Maybe he should continue with the woman, she didn’t seem to be as heavy as either the Zabrak or the green-blue armoured Mandalorian. But that would leave him with the heavier man to drag in last. He looked at both still figures and pondered who to bring into the temple next.

He chuckled softly. All three wore armour made of Dura-alloy or Beskar, all three wore helmets, all three were Mandalorians.

 _How exceptional_. Not many had been seen since the Purge and now three just outside his temple.

 _How curious._ Somehow he only referred to the man in the green-blue armour as a Mandalorian, although the two others wearing a black armour were certainly of the same Creed.

“Oh well.” He sighed deeply and hooked his hands under the armpits of the male warrior. “I really wonder how much all that steel on you weighs.” He was grunting as he dragged the unconscious man step by step back towards the hidden entrance and into the safety of the temple

He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and quickly checked on the man in the black armour. “Mr Booihr? Are you awake?” He was not really unconscious, but also not really responsive. Besides weak movements and some grunts he didn’t get any answer.

He went outside again, the woman was still lying there half curled up. He squatted in a wide stance and angled for her helmet. He tried to lift her. “Makers! Lady, you’re tall but not that tall. This armour must really weigh some pounds.”

He looked down at her and considered how to transport her and the helmet without having to come back for either of them. He turned the helmet around in his hands and took a look inside. The grass the woman, the temple everything seemed to had a reddish tarnish. Then he pulled the helmet over his head and his world went black.

He couldn’t see a thing, he lifted if off again and, yes the red T-visor was in the front. He tried again, black, no matter how he turned his head or the helmet. He grumbled as he pulled him off and placed it carefully in the woman’s lap. If he was deft enough and didn’t jostle her too much he could manage to bring them in both that way.

After he had his involuntary guests inside he sealed the temple again. The closed eyes of the woman told him quickly enough that she was still out. With the men it was more difficult to tell. The man in the coloured armour didn’t move at all. So he tried his luck with the Zabrak again.

His helmet was intriguing. Hesitantly he reached out and touched the horns which protruded from the helmet, then over the smaller horned dents. He reached for the helmet of the woman and held it next to the Zabrak. The similarities were striking, the differences distinctive. The form of the visor, the ornamental decorations and the different colour they were integrated in.

He compared them with the green-blue helmet, it was much simpler, maybe not in technology, he couldn’t tell, but definitely in style. When the Zabrak groaned he concentrated on him again.

“Mr Booihr?” He spoke quietly, soothingly, trying his best to not startle the man if he was actually coming to.

“ _Ni … va … gar … buir_.”

For a second he thought that one of the Vornskrs had found its way into the temple. The growl interrupted harsh pants sounded more like it came from an animal than from a humanoid vocal cord.

“Excuse me? Do you speak Basic?”

“Not … your … father.”

In Basic he neither sounded better, but at least he could understand him. For one who could understand a Wookie it was piteous to not understand Mando’a. But there hadn’t been any possibilities to get to know this language. They had been too secretive and now they were too few and even more reticent.

He studied the man as he tried to find out where this answer had come from. Then it dawned on him: “Oh, booihr means father in your language.”

He was answered by an affirmative grunt and felt reminded of Chewie.

“You got hurt by one of the Vornskrs. You know that they carry a deadly disease?”

Between the grunting he found his answer, a medkit. When he went for the first backpack the growl obviously meant that it was the wrong one, so he tug the next one closer and received another _no_ -growl. There was only one left, yet he got a yes-grunt.

“You know you and Chewie would make a perfect discussion group.” He started to grin at the nondescript grunt his remark earned him.

He didn’t have to dig too deep, actually the medkit lay on the top and he saw that it had been used recently. Given the bandaged state of the Zabrak it was the medkit either of the other two had used to treat him.

He didn’t rummage through it and just upended it. It was the usual stuff which could be found in a medkit. The only thing out of the ordinary was a small package wrapped in a dark cloth that had been wedge into a tight fold at the short end of the kit. That and an empty ampoule.

He held the small glass vial into the light to see the inscription: “Were you given that?”

The yes-grunt was tired. He looked back at the small wrapped package and opened it. Two identical vials rolled onto his open hand: “When were you treated? How much time his past? Do you remember?

“Don’t … know. … Less … than … an hour.” The more the Zabrak spoke the more he could detect the pain in his voice. It was not an unpleasant voice he decided. Without the current situation and the restriction of the helmet it would be a pleasantly rich voice.

“Okay. I’d like to check. Can I?” He was not sure why he was treading so lightly. But something about the hurt Zabrak reminded him of an hurt animal ready to strike even if it was the last thing it was capable of. The pain the man was feeling wavered off him and filled the air around him.

He waited for the yes-grunt and when it came it sounded resigned. He went to work, unwrapped the bandage and examined the wounds. The Zabrak had been really lucky the bite mark wasn’t too deep and that made him wonder why the man was in such a pain.

“I just have to get a few things. Don’t run off meanwhile.”

Even his huff was a grunt.

Having a well in the temple was one of the few luxuries that was still intact in the old temple. That and some room. He took the vials and together with his small supply of medical treatments brought it to the well. With some blankets he prepared a provisioned place to rest and then he went back to the Zabrak.

When he helped him up he joined in the grunts, he from the strenuous task and the Zabrak from pain. But together they made it to the room with the running water.

“It is cold and after some time you will probably feel numb.”

After he had helped him down onto the blanket he pulled the torn and bloodied fabric back and dipped in the bowl. In fact, the water was icy and of course, the Zabrak grunted when he started rinsing his leg.

The first treatment had been done well, but in a rush. He would see to it that the Zabrak got the proper treatment. When the grunts turned to hisses he knew that the numbing effect was starting. But maybe he could distract him.

“You three are Mandalorians.” He didn’t have to ask the obvious, so he simply stated and did not expect anything than the affirmative grunt.

“Your helmet is quite interesting. Custom-made I take it.”

“All are.” He gave the Zabrak a short side-look.

“That explains why it went all black for me.”

“What?” He smile widely when he had the Zabrak’s attention diverted.

“Didn’t want to go out a fourth time. Couldn’t carry the woman and her helmet, so I tried it on, but it was all black outside and inside.”

“Is personalized.”

“So what do you actually see under or with this helmet?” He really wanted to know now that he had someone with first-hand experience he could as and who didn’t want to kill him outrightly, or at least was not in the position to do so right now.

“Depends. As you said custom-made. Standard is audio and visual settings on different levels. Can include rear cams, zooms, long range audio, medical settings, heat signature, different scans. Stuff like that.”

Although the answer was just general he couldn’t blame the Zabrak. But his task to distract him while was still rinsing the wound was not done yet.

“They are alike. Yours and the woman’s. I can see the obvious differences but also the similarities. Is that intentional?”

The Zabrak looked from the where the water ran over his raw flesh back up at his face and he wondered what kind of scans he was running on him.

“Yes.”

His eye brows rose – _is that all, just a yes_? – and he looked expectantly at the other man. But all he was met with was a red T-visor and silence.

“Sorry if I’m intrusive, but I was taught that knowledge is essential.” He shortly wondered whether it was not a white lie to cover his curiosity.

When the Zabrak huffed and let go of a deep inhale, he felt like an obnoxious youngling for a second.

“We’re related. She’s my daughter. Say how long are you going to drench me in that ice-cold water?”

“For some more minutes, it is essential. Wait did you say related? But she’s not a Zabrak like you.”

He felt dumb and like he had missed something when the Zabrak snorted. Then he remembered what the Zabrak had said – _not your father_ – it made sense now. She had called him father in her language.

“Nope she isn’t.” After a grunted sigh he continued: “She was a foundling, I adopted her. That’s what we do.”

“We? You mean the Mandalorians.”

An affirmative grunt was all he got. And he concentrated on the bite mark again.

“Don’t like the look of these edges, best would be to …” He went silent, he didn’t know how the already hurt man would react to hear that he wanted to mess some more with his wound.

“… cut it so that it smoothens out?”

He looked into the visor with a tight-set mouth and then let go of the breath he had held. Then he nodded.

“Then do it.”

His face must have got completely out of control in his surprise because the Zabrak’s shoulders started to shake with his snorts. If he hadn’t just heard the permission he would have flinched back as the tall man reached to his boot and pulled out a vicious looking blade. But he turned it and held it handle first towards him.

“Use mine. That way I know it will be sharp enough.”

He slowly took the knife and looked it over and then back at its owner.

“It will hurt.”

The Zabrak nodded slowly: “Yap, it will hurt. Though with all that frigid water… Just start already.”

“Well, fine. Brace for it.” He pressed his hand on the thigh and started his work with a crunched up face. The icy water seemed to help, with both the blood flow and the pain. A few hisses and grunts was all he heard from beneath the helmet. And there was the tension in the thigh muscles, he could feel them working under his palm .

He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt when he was done. He would just apply some Bacta on the new cuts, dress the wound and give him the second vial later.

When he was done he looked at the man. He could feel him through the Force. A dim but a steady presence. When the presence started to retreat he tilted his head questioningly. Without taking his eyes from the visor he dared to reach forward in the Force with tentative tendrils.

The shining black helmet tilted also and the dim presence retreated even more. Again he reached out, further and more investigative . He gasped and felt like a huge wave had suddenly run over him and hurled him about.

“Stop that.” The growl was a threat. It promised violence.

“You are force-sensitive.” He didn’t know why he had to verbalise it, it was obvious that the Zabrak had felt his prodding and he had retaliated.

“Yes … no…it doesn’t matter!”

“You need training. Did you have a training?” His brain started to jump to conclusions and bombarded him with questions. _Was he a Jedi, how did he survive the Order, how old was he actually, why was his Force so dim, so grey, had he learnt to cover it, was the whole Mandalorian thing a cover_?

“Yes, _Jedi_. I had. On Ziost and on Korriban. And you know what that means. You know what that makes me.” The Zabrak literally spat the words at him, there was all of a sudden so much anger and it made the dullness flare up.

He was taken aback. He knew what the dark side felt like. He had felt its pull. It was fiery, blazing nothing as dull as what surrounded the Zabrak, or was it only due to his injury. He had to ask in order to know.

“You are a Sith?”

The sigh was wistful and full of both sadness and relief: “No, I was to become a Sith.”

“What happened?” He could barely breathe his request for the Zabrak to continue.

The Zabrak straightened: “Why should I tell you?”

The question was justified he had to admit: “Maybe because I helped you and because you will have to share this humble housing with me. I’d like to know who I saved and who I’m housing.”

“You saved three Mandalorians who were hunting Vornskrs. Isn’t that enough?”

He slowly shook his head and tried to prepare himself for what might come.

“I could lie to you.” The way the Zabrak lowered his helmet was menacing.

“I don’t think you would.” It was difficult to gaze into the blankness of the visor, to not know if he actually looked into the man’s eyes or if he looked back at him. But he just had to know. Besides his sister he hadn’t met any other force-sensitive people.

“Fine … In short. Born on Iridonia, taken from my parents before I could say their names. Brought to Ziost, trained there as the youngest. Taken to Korriban before the time and made an apprentice. Sent on … a mission … failed and left for dead. Gave me the liberty to leave. To leave everything behind me … Got a new chance with the Mandalorians, joined their fighting corps, first time ever I did something out of my volition … Happy now?

The dullness around him had begun to flicker despite his voice droning robotically on. He could feel that the Zabrak wanted to stay detached. The only words filled with more emotion were the last ones – _new chance with the Mandalorians_ – he could guess why the man didn’t want anything to do with what had happened to him in his early life.

“Have you never thought about following the light side of the Force, to find the Jedis to train you?”

The huff was drenched with sarcasm: “Yeah, because Mandalorians and Jedis are the best buddies.”

“No, I mean before you joined them.” He tried to backpaddle, the waver around the Zabrak had intensified.

“I almost died, I fled, I fought, I almost died again and I was found. There was no time in between. And I definitely didn’t want to have anything to do with something that caused so much … pain.”

“The Force doesn’t cause pain, it’s the way of the Sith. The Jedi …”

“… say that there is no passion, no emotion. That is also painful. And what would I have done with my daughter? Brought her to the training lessons?”

He was momentarily at a loss of words and the only question that flickered in his mind blurted out before he could hold it back: “Makers! She’s what, about twenty-five, thirty? How old are you?”

“Not that it is any of your business. Found her when I was nineteen. Should explain why I had other prerogatives than finding some Jedis. Besides … two years later they were gone anyway … same as us.”

Again the words of the Zabrak silenced him. The purges had not only hit the Jedis, but also the Mandalorians he remembered.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have …”

“T’is fine.” The grumble was absolute and he knew that this topic was finished for the Zabrak.

He was even more reluctant to address what else had his heart beating faster. Several times he looked at the Zabrak, opened his mouth and shut it again.

“What else?” Again the Zabrak sounded at the verge of his patience.

“She’s … Did you know …” He stopped when a growl made it past the helmet. His heart started to beaten even faster. Now that he had started he had to finish. But given the reactions so far he feared that the Zabrak might receive this even less favourably: “I could feel her, like you, even more so. She is also force-sensitive.”

The Zabrak snorted without humour: “Now, what where the chances for _that_?”

He didn’t want to give up yet. Neither on the Zabrak nor on the woman he claimed to be his daughter.

“Will you allow me to … talk to her about it? You could listen and …” He studied the impregnable helmet, the red visor glinted unforgivingly when the Zabrak tilted his head.

“It is not up to me to allow or forbid anything. She is responsible for herself, so she will decide if she wants to listen to you or not. But be warned, hurt her in any way and you will regret it thousand fold.“

There it was again, the threat and the flare that brightened the dullness. He wagered that it was probably for the best that the Zabrak hadn’t had any further training. Although he wondered how much training he had received, how much he was able to work with the Force.

He had been able to detect the prodding and he had been able to push the intrusion away, even quite powerfully. But what else was he capable of. He would have to find out and he thought of way how to do so without being too obvious.

“We should go back to the other two. In case they woke up they will want answers.”

The Zabrak hummed only and started to struggle up. When he reached out to help him he was growled at. He watched with a wary eye as the warrior in black cumbersomely came to a stand. Once standing he gingerly put his weight on his left leg. Obviously he was satisfied with the result as he started to take his first steps back to the entrance hall.

-*-*-*-

His head was pounding and his ears were ringing with a high-pitched whizzle, it made him nauseous. He squinted and blinked, but it didn’t get any lighter. The hall was huge with tall columns on both sides. He wondered where he was. He only remember having walked up to the Vornskrs to buy Dargak and Vayra more time. Dargak and Vayra! She had called out for him, she had been looking for him, so where had he gone with his wounded leg. Where was Dargak?

Vayra? Where was she? Turning his head made his vision blur, but even in the dimness of the hall he could make out her dark armour, her helmet lay next to her, its red T-visor stared at him. With a grunt he turned on his stomach and pulled himself up next to her.

“ _Ner meshurok_?!” He only whispered, he didn’t know where they were and who else hid in the darkness. He didn’t want to alert anyone to the fact that he had regained his consciousness.

He rolled back onto his side and placed his hand on her shoulder. Giving her a light shake he addressed her several times before he finally got a whimper for an answer.

“Wake up. Please, wake up. We…I think we are in the temple.”

Finally she opened her eyes and looked around without much focus, just taking in what she could see from her prone position. Then her eyes widened suddenly, she inhaled sharply and swiftly turned her head to him.

He tried to follow all the emotions that washed over her face, he tried to draw conclusions to what she was thinking. Horror at being in the temple, relief that she was not alone, that he was there, and then … it was too fleeting – pain or sadness – he couldn’t read it.

But it was followed by anger and the fist that connected with his cuirass punched the air out of his lungs and threw him onto his back. He winced as again the back of his head connected with a hard surface and for a second a black blanket pushed past his vision.

“I _hate_ you!”

She was screaming as she lounged at and straddled him.

“How _could_ you!”

Her voice was overturning as she hammered with her fists against his chest plate. With each impact his vision wavered.

“Do you know what you _did_!?”

Her screams turned into sobs, the hammering slowed. He panted to clear his brain.

“Do _not_ _ever_ do _that_ again!”

He could catch one of her fists and rest it against his cuirass.

“Never ever again tell me that you love me and then walk away to your …”

Her shoulders were shaking with her sobs. He caught her other fist and held against his chest.

“You can’t do that to me!”

Loose strands of her hair veiled her face as her head hang low. He had to strain more and more his ears as he voice dropped to a mere whisper and it got difficult to hear due to the constant whistling.

“I can’t live through that again!”

His hands wandered up her arms to her shoulders and pulled her down against his chest.

“Not a second time, I won’t survive going through that a second time.”

He wrapped his arms around her back and slowly rocked her, waited until she was only sobbing quietly. His heavy exhales fogged his visor.

“I’m sorry, … _ner meshurok_. … I’m so sorry. … It was … the only thing … I knew to do. I wanted … to know you safe. I wanted to … buy you time. I wanted you … to survive.”

Speaking was energy-sapping. He moved her body with his heaving pants.

“Never … not a second time … together or not at all.”

His head and neck hurt, but he leaned in to rest his forehead against hers.

“Promise … I try … not to…”

He had to rest his head back against the ground again. Pounding, whistling, blurring, it was too much. He needed a minute to find his composure again.

“Tern?” The worry was thick in her voice.

“Hmm.” He tried to sound stronger than he actually felt. But even in his own ears it sounded fake and sickly.

She started to nestle at the locking mechanism of the helmet and for a second he panicked. Then he looked into her wide eyes. They were red and still glistening from the tears she had shed. Only when she had leaned into him and pressed her forehead and nose against his helmet, he gave her shoulders a squeeze. He knew he wanted it, she deserved it.

She started slipping his helmet off and only for a second, just before the darkness of the Beskar limited his vision he saw her eyelids closing. His fingertips tensed again, he wanted to tell her that it is ok. It wasn’t like he had hoped, it wasn’t ideal but it its own sense it was right. She could have looked, she didn’t have to close her eyes.

But as soon as the helmet lifted enough to reveal his mouth he felt her lips on his. Tiny, soft but demanding pecks, nips and nibbles at his lips. It was a chase of who caught whose. She was stealing his breath and it made him dizzy. He tensed his grip on her shoulders when he felt her fingers brush over his jawbone and to his neck. He groaned into her kiss when his vision became blurrier and blurrier – _a nice way to go_ – was his last coherent thought.

-*-*-*-

Pain – Loss – Panic

She was tumbling in a lightless abyss surrounded by images torturing her.

The day sunless and dark rainclouds hung deep. The training circle was a puddle of mud. Bodies wrangling, slipping. Mud splashing, smearing the visors. Laughter, taunting and menacing. A grating voice too close to her earpiece - Vas, a maniac laughter – Tiani. _Pain_ – they had brought their vibroknives. _Pain_ – they sunk them into the muscle of her backside.

The night was starless and thunder rolled constantly. Electricity tingled on the skin. Lightnings blinded the eye. Blazing fire singed the hair. Two pyres blazing in the night – Jurann and Mayh. One pyres painting the brook in orange – Denx. _Loss_ – they had marched on, one following the other. _Loss_ – he had marched on, leaving without her.

The forest was dark and the snarls loud. Ebony fangs barred. Froth white and red dripped. A wound beneath black armour in need to be attended – Dargak. A warrior in green-blue armour striding to his death – Tern. _Panic_ – Dargak’s wound could turn fatal – he could go marching away. _Panic_ – Tern’s last words as he strode towards the beasts – he could go marching away.

A whisper reached her ear, a voice she had thought she had lost. Only when she felt the slight jostle on her shoulder did she tear herself to the surface, woke up and opened her eyes.

The temple! They were in the temple! The place she didn’t want to be. The panic flooded back. But the voice, where was the bearer of the voice she had heard. With turning her head she found him, he was lying next to her, he hadn’t left, hadn’t gone marching away. Comfort settled in.

It came all back – _Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum_ – _Oya_ – what he had said and what he had done. He had been prepared to forsake his life for hers. He told her that he loved her and then was about to leave her – like Denx had left her.

Denx had told her the same words, had kissed her and left with her with the battle cry on his lips, had never returned. She had to find him, what was left of him after the battle. She had to bury the man who had proclaimed his love to her.

Tern had used the same words. He hadn’t kissed her, but his battle cried had sealed his fate. He had left her to watch his demise. And all of a sudden she felt a rage built in her. How could he tell her that he loved her and then expect to stand by as he walked into this certain downfall?

She punched him, she threw herself onto him to hammer into his chest, into his _Beskaryc Kar’ta_. She hated him for what he had done, for what he had he put her through, for rising her hopes and smashing them within a single moment.

She couldn’t stand to lose him, couldn’t live through another loss. She had denied herself to feel something again, to let anyone in again. Then she had allowed herself to feel something again, had let him in. And he had failed her, so miserably failed the hopes that with him it would be different.

She couldn’t take any more. She was blind to his failing resistance, deaf to the stagger in his breath, numb to the little strength as she pulled her fists against his chest.

She couldn’t take any more. The strength left her. The tears subsided. The pain waned. Because he was there. The relief waxed. Because he was there. The hope rose. Because he would do anything for her. The comfort spread. Because he shielded her in his embrace.

With him she could take more. With him she could endure. But she needed him.

She could see how his head slumped back. She could hear the pain in his breathing. She could feel the loose grip he had on her. And it made her tense with worry. She needed to feel that he was still with her. She needed to show him what he meant to her.

They had done this before and still he tensed as she unlocked the seal of the helmet. She waited for his consent although she was desperate for his touch, for the touch of his lips. She felt his hands on her shoulder and slowly inched his helmet up.

Not much was needed, just so much exposure the feel his lips on her and still she closed her eyes. He could rely on her. It was just the touch she needed right now. A kiss for his love which he showed in the small actions. A kiss for his love which he expressed in words. A kiss for the love which she felt for him.

She held his head, curled her fingers in the long strands that had escaped the helmet. They were damp and slightly sticky. But it didn’t matter. His lips mattered. His lips were soft, his nibbles sweet, his breath was warm and then he stilled under her.

There were no nibs in response, there was no contraction of the muscles of his mouth to share a peck. Just softness, unresponsiveness and his hands slid from her shoulders, clinking with a metallic sound against stone.

She pulled back and opened her eyes. His chin was stubby, his lips were slightly parted and when she pulled her hands away from his neck they were smeared red with his blood – _Panic_!

-*-*-*-

A voice pulled him out of the fog the pain had created. Inwardly he was cursing Tharam for the fast pace and he was admiring him for the strength and stamina he had shown. He knew that only thanks to him they had reached the walls of the temple.

Once the warrior had put him down next to the wall he had been only dimly aware of what was going on around him. What he got was that the situation had been dire. But when he got jostled again and dragged into a cool darkness he had succumbed to the half unconscious state he had wavered in and out of.

He woke up to a voice mutilating his language and he wondered where it got the idea from to call him father. He would have recognized his daughter’s voice and this was definitely not her. Waking from his trance was something he would add to the worse experiences in his life.

He let his frustration out in a growl. It was all a bit much at once. And that man abusing Mando’a didn’t add to heighten his mood. He barely kept his flinch under control when the man butchered the word _buir_ for the third time and he decided to spare him more than the initial glance. Compared to him he was small and slim, but agile and he seemed bright enough. And when a smile lit his face he looked really young, boyish even with his bright blue eyes.

He had seen the froth on the maws of the Vornskrs and had harboured a concern, Tharam had hinted at it back in the forest and now this man also spoke of a disease which the beasts carried. But it fell all into place. They carried the disease and had infected the hunters who turned crazy and died. _Nice prospects_ – he thought.

Vayra had done her best given the situation. But he was sure that the hunters had treated their kin also, or had they? It was an unknown factor and he tried to not think about it and how it changed his chances to survive the attack. What he dimly remembered was the injection Vayra had given him, maybe that would make a difference and he wouldn’t end up in insanity before death ripped him away. 

The man was eager enough to help him, but he abhorred was how talkative he was - _who the Sithspawn was this Chewie who he wanted to team him up with_ – with a grunt he let the man know that he couldn’t care less. NEvertheless he directed the young man to the right backpack, at least he was quick enough to find the vial Vayra had given him. He tried to drone out the rambling of the man, but he could think of why it was important for him to know when he had been given the injection. Shortly he wondered whether it would shut up the man if he talked more

At least he was polite enough to ask before he touched him. He was young and might not know about Mandalorians, but so far he hadn’t asked any further about the helmets. He feared that if he rejected his help, which he couldn’t afford, that the talkative would probably flood him with another verbiage. He didn’t feel well enough to be able to stand that, or the horrible jokes the man tried. But maybe that was his way to compensate for the nervousness which more and more became appearant.

He wondered where this nervousness stemmed from, but his attention was diverted. He had to give it to the young man, he might not be of a great stature, but he had strength. With his close to three hundred pounds including the armour he was no lightweight, but the smaller man managed, albeit with grunts and huffs.

That the water was cold was the understatement of the century, but from what he knew it was essential to rinse the wound properly and the water they had had in the forest was limited. Thus he gritted his teeth and endured. At some point it got even bearable, that was when his whole thigh felt numb and made even the smoothing of the ragged edges tolerable.

What was harder to endure, was the man’s nosiness. First it was the helmets in general, then it was about his and Vayra’s and their relationship. But finally he got it. The man was clever, he had successfully diverted his attention. He smiled wryly at his observation that his wound was being wrapped up again.

When again the nervousness of the younger man surfaced he felt smug. A growl was enough to keep the younger man on his toes. The fact that he was tall, a Zabrak and a Mandalorian might have added to the effect, it made him grin broadly. This would probably have the blonde man also on the edge, he mused and snorted out his merriment.

His smirk was wiped from his face when he felt the soft push through the Force against him. He hadn’t felt it coming. It had been so long ago that he had felt anything like this and it came completely unexpected.

It was nothing physical yet he felt the invasion and fixed the man who was watching him with a tilted head. He instinctively retreated, he didn’t want to be felt out, to be touched. He didn’t want to be reminded how it felt to be touched with the Force, to be invaded, manipulated and subdued as he had endured in his early years.

But the man didn’t give up, he followed, he reached further. He could play that game too. He tilted his helmet and tried to remember what he had been taught so many years ago. He retreated again and tensed his theoretical fortress. He could feel the strength of the push in the Force, despite it being just a soft tapping at the outer shell of his borders.

The man stared at him with his blue eyes and he felt him reach forward again. This was enough of a warning, he thought and as his eyes turned hard, he folded and rolled the Force around the prodding and flung the testing tendrils off him.

“Stop that.” He had to give him at least one verbal warning in case this reprimand didn’t have the wished result.

He recoiled from himself. It had been too easy to do it, to dig unto what he wanted to keep hidden and buried. He had never asked for it and had never felt anything else but abuse when it came to its use. For him this chapter of his life was closed - C _in Vhetin_.

But the young man was relentless, as he had been in his prodding now so with his questions. He felt the anger rise in him. He thought it more than imprudent of their host to jab all these questions at him. It should be his concern, no matter how sensitive he was.

The blonde man was young and foolish to anger him. What if he had completed his apprenticeship, would that youngling still wish to nudge him to the edge? He had felt his young but controlled use of the Force. He didn’t know if he was dealing with a full Jedi Master or just a Knight, but he was sure that the teaching would have been enough to understand what he was implying.

He had been to Ziost and to Korriban and he had been an apprentice. And in recollection it was the worst time of his life. And what he had felt and done back then was something he never wanted to experience again.

He felt the wall of defence spring up in the young man and his smile was wolfish. He could literally taste the sudden fear that erupted in front of him. He had to control himself to not bathe in the feeling. That he would have done in a long gone past, now he only sighed deeply as he settled his emotions back down.

He didn’t know where the Jedi’s brave curiosity came from and he didn’t know where his own decision to indulge him came from. The only thing he could do, was to keep it as brief and superficial as possible. He could sense the flickering around him increase and he struggled against it. C _in Vhetin_. – his life was with the Mandalorians now, he was a Mandalorian, not a Sith, nor did he want to be a Jedi.

He was thankful for his helmet when the Jedi still continued. Too easily his emotions showed, too easily to be read. But then, maybe this would have kept the blonde man from going on. Now that he couldn’t concentrate on him anymore he targeted Vayra. Growling was his means to not turn into a flare of blinded rage.

He had guessed and feared it ever since the first incident at the temple on Ossus. One had to be sensitive to pick up what had happened there thousands of years ago and she had reacted to it. He had been certain when she had told him about her second encounter, but it needed the young Jedi for his fear to re-surface.

He wanted to throttle him and cave his windpipe in, just to quieten him. He couldn’t make any decisions for Vayra and he couldn’t prohibit that the blonde man talked to her about the Force, but he would make him pay dearly if she got hurt during either the conversation or at any later point in time.

Again he needed to ground himself. This seemed to be something he had to do often in this temple, or maybe it was only because of the young man with his Jedi training. He studied him once more, despite all that had happened he couldn’t bring himself to actually hate the young man. Dislike him for his breaches, but not hate.

After all he did seem to have some common sense when he suggested to go back to Vayra and Tharam. But that didn’t mean that he wanted him anywhere near him. A sudden worry that a contact could trigger something he couldn’t control spread in him. And no matter how hard to struggle was to come back to a stand he declined the other man’s help.

He just had to ration his strength and take slow, careful step, then he would be fine. He breathed into the burning sensation that spread from his leg with each step. He was glad that they had to round only one more corner to reach the entrance hall. Drops of sweat were already finding their way into his eyes.

“TERN!”

It was just one syllable, but the shriek rose an octave and it stilled everything in and around him, his step, his breath and his heart. Never had he heard her scream in such a panic and ache.

He scrambled forward, the next step would take him round the corner and give him a look at the hall. His leg almost gave in as he put his whole weight on it. The young man didn’t rush forwards as his intention had been, but did reach out and stabilize him.

He still pressed forward just to freeze at the display. His daughter, Vayra was sitting astride the Nevarro brave. He could see her hands, bare and lifted, glinting in a wet red. And he could she the jaw of the still man.

He jerked the young man back into the corridor by his shoulder: “Wait. You are not entitled to see this.” And he detached himself from the perplexed man.

“The med-bag. Give it to me.” He almost tore the bag from the man’s shoulder as his fumblings were too slow for his impatience.

“You stay her. If I see so much as your nose you are in trouble.” He knew how to intonate his growl and it made the young man take a further step into the corridor and nod quickly.

In a rushed hobble he made his way over to his daughter and the still warrior.

“Vayra. I’m here. Everything’s ok.” Her hiccupped wail went straight into his heart.

He needed to steady himself on her shoulder as he knelt next to them. He tried not to gaze at the exposed lower part of the warrior's face when he nestled his fingers under the neck scarf to feel for a pulse. Instead he scanned the cuirass and chest for any signs of breathing.

He could detect both. Soft, but steady and unfaltering: “ He is ok, Vayra. He just passed out.”

He gathered one of her hands and looked at the traces of blood: “Where does that come from?”

“Head. Neck. I just held him and …”

“’S’okay. I need your scarf and we need to turn him around.”

He looked into her blank face: “Head. Blood. Wound. We need to turn him round. That way we can treat it.”

He guided her with his hands and instructed her with his words. Finally she knelt at his head and together they turned the unconscious warrior on his stomach.

”Cover his head with your scarf then we can pull of the helmet to treat his head.”

She cradled the green-blue helmet between her knees as he slid his arms under the front of the warrior to lift him. When he laid him gently back his bare but covered head was nestled between her knees.

Carefully he tugged up the scarf and revealed the tuff of matted brown hair, darkened by the stickiness covering it.

“He’ll be fine. The Kolto will do its job.” He parted the hair to get at the gash on the scalp.

A quick look back told him that the hall was empty besides them. The young man was still waiting in the corridor. When he was done they slipped Tern's helmet back on. He knew of the strictness of the Creed the young man adhered to and it hadn’t been breached. Besides the strands of hair he hadn’t seen anything.

He pushed aside the glimpse of the strong stubby jaw and pale lips. It was nothing, not enough to really tell what Tharam looked like. And as long as Vayra wouldn’t lose a word about it, he would neither.

While they were turning Tharam around again he heard the man groan.

“Hey? Back with us again?” He had to sit back, his leg burnt like fire and he rubbed along his thigh.

“Hmmmm.”

He grinned at the signature hum and at how Vayra’s face brightened again. He had heard it often enough and he knew that where he growled, Tharam’s acknowledging sound was this hum and its variations.

-*-*-*-

He stood there stunned in the corridor. His shoulder still hurt where the Zabrak ‘s hand and dug in and pulled him back. He could hear them talking in hushed and urgent voices. But the instructions had been clear. He wondered why the woman had pulled off her helmet if it was so essential to their Creed.

IF he asked he knew that he would antagonize the Zabrak with another of his questions, but he needed to know if they were to stay for the time being. He mummeld over how to form he question when he heard the older man’s call that he could enter the hall, carefully he peeked around the corner before he did so.

Immediately he took in the scene. Both were sitting next to the outstretched warrior. On the ground next to his head he could detect a dark wet spot. The Zabrak was rubbing his thigh, whatever he had done had made him aggravate his wounded leg. The woman was talking in a hushed voice with the prone warrior.

Astonished he watched as she lowered her head and their foreheads met, rested against each other. It was a tender scene and he understood the intimacy of it. Whereas people who didn’t wear helmets had faces to touch and caress, for Mandalorians this was the ultimate form of tenderness. He didn't have to reach out in the Force to feel it and what he felt was powerful and pure, a bright flare in the Force and it was not only coming from the Zabrak. Even more so it surrounded the woman, she was engulfing them all with her colourful display of the Force.

He slowly walked closer, careful to be quiet and not disturb the couple. The Zabrak only nodded quietly. After some time the woman slowly lifted her head and he was struck by the brightness of her green eyes literally shining within her pale face, even in the dimness of the entrance hall they stood out.

He exchanged a knowing look with the Zabrak and he didn’t expect anything else but the growl. It was followed by a heavy sigh. This didn’t make him feel any safer and he was very careful when he slowly reached out in the Force, even more mindful than he had been with the Zabrak.

When he felt the first contact it was breath-taking for him. The power he had felt from her father was piercingly raw with a tint of training, hers was callow, undisciplined and flittering, but all-covering. He probed deeper and was hit by wall of lingering bitterness, unresolved pain, a persistent feeling of loss. Lesser in their onslaught when he had felt her outside the temple, but still too prominent enough to cover what lay beneath.

Both he and her father watched her closely and when she turned rigid and her eyes widened her father’s helmet shot in his direction, its visor blaring danger. As he probed deeper to see what was hidden beneath the cover he took a step closer. She shot to her feet and scampered back like a scared animal. Her father was only a tick slower to stand and put himself in between with a growl.

“Enough!”

He pulled back the very instant, both his body and the prod in the Force. “She is untrained.” His voice rasped with his revelation.

“Of course she is.” The rumble indicated more than it just stated. It reminded him of what had happened so that she went undetected and untrained, of her descendance and life-style. He had heard of only few Mandalorians who also followed the Force, but she could set an example, now that there were only so few left of both of them.

This thought had him look at the warrior on the ground. He followed his intuition and reached out towards him. His eyes widened when he was met with a wall, he had encountered this barrier already, though this time it was enforced with a new presence. Astonished he looked up at the Zabrak.

“Leave _him_ alone. Leave _us_ alone with your Jedi manipulations.” The barrier flared with the rising anger of the Zabrak.

“You used her to strengthen your power?! That is exceptional.” He hadn’t thought that the Zabrak would be capable of doing anything like that.

“Manipulate, all you force-users can do is manipulate. No matter which side you are on.”

He had to step back the Zabrak's flare got quite intense and he didn’t want to infuriate the man anymore.

“I allowed you to _talk_ to her, not to try and invade her being.”

“But I had to see …”

“No. You’ve seen enough, invaded enough. I saw and felt it. I won’t allow it.” The helmet tilted further down to him as the taller man limped a step towards him.

“ _Buir_?” Her voice was a call for help. And he regretted having put her at that unease: “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be rude. Maybe we can all just relax and _talk_.”

He hadn’t finished his last word when the Zabrak again took a menacing step accompanied by his signature growl. He was sure that he could best him, especially in his weakened state, but that would be more then counterproductive.

“Please.” Pleading sounded like a much better way to appease the angry man. “Over there, there is some kind of common area and it has been re-furnished somewhat. I can make us some tea.

“Will one of you tell me what is going on here?” She had become more insistent. He in her place would neither want to be left that clueless.

“Please. Let’s talk about this seated.”

“Maybe that is a good idea because I feel parched.” A struggling movement from the prone warrior to come to a sitting position had all their heads turn and concentrate on him. The woman was quickly at his side. The Zabrak limped back without turning his eyes off him. He recognised that this man was a born protector. Born or trained, either way he had him still under his gaze even as he obviously cared much for the other Mandalorian.

“How do you feel?” The Zabrak had stepped to the side of the man and together with the woman he helped the man to stand up.

“A bit wobbly.”

He listened to the man’s voice, it was not as dark and full as the Zabrak’s, yet much darker than his own. As he stood he noted that he was only slightly smaller than the man who held him. He couldn’t feel anything of him due to the barrier the Zabrak still held upright. And when the horned man looked at him he knew that he was testing him.

He showed them the way, occasionally glancing back, as they made their way towards the common room he had pointed out. He could overhear their low conversation. Not through the modulators of their helmets, but the soft whispers which escaped them. Outwardly there was nothing to hear as they had turned off their vocoders.

“Where are we and who’s that guy?”

“In the temple, he’s the one that brought us in.”

“Oh right, the temple … wait that whiff of man dragged you in here?”

“All three of us, as it is. He’s a … he knows how to use his strength”

“ _Buir_?”

“ _Ad’ika_?!”

“What did he do … what did you do? It … I felt …”

“We’ll talk about it. Guess that’s something I can’t prevent.”

He heard the heavy sigh of the Zabrak and unintentionally he reached out again with the wish to comfort. But no matter how good his intention was, he was met with a forceful lash that made him retreat immediately.

“Stop it! I don’t need your pity!”

-*-*-*-

She was confused Tern’s sudden sagging and sinking into unconsciousness had driven any ability to form a rational thought from her. She didn’t know where her father had all of a sudden came from but he was there, helped her and Tern and that was all that counted for her.

Meeting his helmet with her forehead was the closest she could get. To let him feel that she was there, to thank him for not having left, to plead him to not leave her. She knew when her heart opened to him that she could no longer resist, that he was the best that had happened to her in the last ten years.

She was overwhelmed with her realisation that when she looked up she saw the slim man only after he had walked closer to her. She couldn’t turn her eyes from the piercing blue that stared into her face.

Something made her take a sharp inhale as a tight feeling manifested in her chest. It felt like an electrostaff had hit her. One wave after the next seemed to be intent on sweeping her off her feet. For a moment she froze as likely any emotion she had ever felt winded through her

It was something she wanted to get away from. She didn’t know why, but she connected the strange sensation with the approaching figure of the blonde man and getting away from him was what instinct told her to do.

“Enough!” Only rarely had she heard her father bark out a command so forcefully. And as if his word had some magic in it she felt wrapped up in something that spread comfort within her. It lulled her and set her at peace. Already as a youngling she had thought that her father’s voice held some magic, being reminded like that, being able to feel it like that wanted her to curl up and sob in happiness.

She didn’t know what they were talking about, what kind of training they referred to. But she could decipher the tone quite well and as she gaze from one man to the other she could encrypt their feelings that resonated in their tones.

There was a certain righteousness in the smaller man, along with curiosity. But he was not interesting for her. She turned to her father and was again enveloped in the comfortable warmth – love and protection, was what she got. Sentiments she understood only too well.

Well enough to not resist the pull that she felt as she was being dragged along and made participate in spreading the cloak around Tern who was still lying on the ground. It was to protect him and something flared within her. She didn’t know how, but she would do anything to help and protect the man that she loved.

She remembered how her father had once taught her to build a shelter. It felt similar only not with her hands. Then he had asked her to give a branch, now he tugged at a string in her and she let lose of it. Then he had instructed her to weave it into the other branches, now he guided her to interlace her string with his.

She was so entranced by the construct that she could literally see before her eyes, that the harsh voice of her father intensified her efforts. Only when she felt him still and just linger within her did she stop breathlessly.

“ _Buir_?” She wanted to know what had just happened. It was so confusing to build a shelter without actually building one.

“Will one of you tell me what is going on here?” She hated being ignored. Whatever was going on between the slim man and her father had him act even more cautiously then when the Vornskrs had attacked them.

“Maybe that is a good idea and I feel parched.” – Tern! Her sigh didn’t make it past her lips as she was with him in an instant. She had used all the water from their canteens on her father, she had nothing for him. And as he came up and stood on unsteady feet he needed to be assisted by her and Dargak.

When he showed them the way to the common room, Dargak waited a few steps, bringing some distance between the blonde man and their group of three.

“Intern-com.”

It was just a single word, but with all she had seen and mostly felt she knew why her father asked for the privacy of their communication system.

Tern’s question was legitimate, who was that young man. He had helped them, but her father seemed less than happy with his company. When she looked at him he seemed to be unsteady beyond by what was caused by his wound.

The sensation she had felt was still lingering. The weaving of the shelter, he had held her hand in place so that the branches would not swipe off and away before they were properly fixed and kept together.

“We’ll talk about it. Guess that’s something I can’t prevent.”

She felt the lingering touch intensify, enclose her like the shelter had back then. It flared within her as her father lashed out verbally.

“Stop it! I don’t need your pity!”

She felt taken aback and drawn in at the same time. Until the slightly uncomfortable notion subsided again to the lingering feeling. Being so reminded about their day in the wilderness back then, she just couldn’t withhold the notion to slip her hand into his.

It felt steadying to feel the warmth of his strong fingers wrap round her smaller hand. Only reluctantly she let go when their guide offered them chairs to sit. She looked around while their host prepared the promised tea.

It was also semi dim. Only a few torches lit the smaller room. A fireplace in the middle sufficed as cooking place and in the far corner she could make out the makings for a resting place. It was obvious that this was the main room where the man slept, ate and did whatever else he did the whole day.

On the table in front of her was an old book. It looked strange and she felt compelled to touch its ancient cover. It – _light_ – stung – _dark_ – and she felt – _Force_ – as if it wanted to suck her in. She pulled her fingers quickly back and looked at the men accompanying her. It seemed they were oblivious.

This could have only been an imagination, a trick of her overworked brain. Books don’t sting. Again she reached out, this time more carefully than before. It – _passion_ – burnt – _focus_ – and she felt – _Force_ – as if it wanted to pull her in. Her father turned his head towards her and studied her, then the book.

Her fingers barely hovered – _knowledge_ – over the book – _power_ – and she felt – _Force_ – a heat wave surging through her. It quickly ebbed down. Her father gripped her hand and pulled it away from the book.

As soon as her hand left the vicinity – _serenity_ – of the book – _strength_ – an icy wave made her shudder – _Force_.

“Vayra.” Her father had turned her by her shoulders so that she had to look at him.

“Through victory I gain harmony.”

“What?”

“Huh?”

“Vayra!”

All three men were suddenly focused on her. Her father was staring through the visor at her. Tern’s helmet tilted questioningly. And the blond man at the fire place abruptly turned, almost upending the small bench he had sat on.

When he came over, his forehead was furrowed and a seriousness marked all his face.

“We do have to talk. Where do you know these words from? Who has taught you them?

She was more confused than scared: “I don’t know. No one taught me. Ever since that incident on Ossus. That’s where I heard them first. I think.”

“You have been to the temple on Ossus? The great one with the catacombs?

She could only nod to the questions of the younger man.

“Who did you see there? Did you meet anyone there?”

She only shook her head and it was up to Tern to answer the man: “We were alone there.”

“You were with here? What happened so that she got to know these words?”

Only Dargak kept quiet as both of them related what had happened back in the temple on Ossus. One filled the blanks of the others until they had given the blonde man a complete picture.

The young man seemed to be restless, his fingers twitching erratically: “Do you know where these words come from?”

It was when neither of them could answer that he told them of the Dark Jedis and what he had learnt in his studies so far. When he recited the whole codex she went totally still. With every word something vibrated in her and the way her father clutched her hand he felt it too.

It felt like being pulled out of a swamp when the younger man addressed her: “You had these feelings, these notions. I could feel your presence in the force. I was unlike I have felt ever before. Both of you that is. From your father I know where his stems from. But where your sensitiveness comes from, that makes me wonder. Back in the Republic we could …”

“No!” Simultaneously she and her father denied.

Quietly she added: “I just know that is not where I should go.”

“But you need to be taught, there is an impending danger …”

“No!”

She was glad that her father came once again to her assistance. She didn’t feel like she could stand up to the man’s arguments.

The man’s eyes flashed angrily: “You completely underestimate the danger … No, let me speak … I know that I can’t force you to start a full training, and up to now there are no means to do so anyway. But let me at least show you the basics and teach you how to shield yourself. Both of you! You were blazing beacons in the night for me to see you through the Force. Sith, and I’m sure there are still some out somewhere in the galaxy will not stop just because you say no.”

She watched as he paused and inhaled deeply, debating with himself. When his shoulder sank she knew he was ready to continue: “As a Jedi I’m not happy with the obvious choice you, the Force or whoever has made. But it is definitely better than the Dark Side. So stick to this codex, it has guided you so far it will further on. For as long as you wish to stay I can teach you, if you wish to do so. While you think this over, here is the tea and I will prepare a place for you to rest for the night.”

She watched him get the tea pot from the fire place and then leave. His speech had her unsettled and she rubbed her palms over her cuisses. The cold metal soothed her senses.

Tern was the first to break the silence: “What do you intend to do? He sounded serious about this Force thing.”

“ _Ad_ , it is your decision.”

While they were searching for Tern to be also able to drink something, which he finally did in the entrance hall, and while she was blowing on and sipping her own mug she considered the options. When she finally had come to a conclusion she let her father and Tern know.

“We can rest here until you are healed and meanwhile …, she shrugged her shoulders, “… meanwhile I could learn something.”

Her father’s shoulders sank and when he spoke it was with a finality: “Fine. I will attend the lessons too.”

Shortly after the young man came back and laid the syringe and a vial on the table.

“You know how to do it, but I can also … if you prefer me to do it.”

She was barely able to glance towards her father as he shoved the items back towards the man. She was thankful that he wanted the young man to give him the injection. She wouldn’t have trusted her hands to be as steady as they needed to be.

“Down the corridor and then left. I prepared only one room. It’s hard to find places here that do not come crumbling down.”

Tern tug at her hand, he was more perceptive than her and had got that their rescuer wanted to talk to Dargak. With a sigh she got up and looked at her father concernedly. His nod was somewhat reassuring and so she finally followed Tern.

-*-*-*-

While Vayra left with Tern he undid the bandage exposing his wound. It didn’t look bad, no reddening edges and it started, thanks to the Kolto and Bacta, to heal already.

“Do you feel any different? Are you sensitive to water or light?”

“No.” He had to think and check on himself for a moment before he could give the answer.

“I will have to set it deeper and a part will go in your arm. I’d need some access there.”

He inhaled deeply and couldn’t help that his exhale came with a low growl. It made the young man’s mouth twitch nervously in an attempted smile.

While the man started on his legs he worked of gauntlets and pauldrons and placed them on the table. His cuirass followed soon after.

“What do you intend to teach her?”

While he explained about the basics he wanted to teach her, he cleaned the needle and then waited until Dargak had shed the suit exposing his shoulder.

“Will you teach her how to use the Force in fights?”

It was obvious that he man hadn’t thought about that and he was struggling shortly for an answer: “If you wish me to do so and if there is enough time.”

He watched as the needle sank into and leave his tattooed red skin and struggled back into his suit. The young man was already holding out his chest plate to him: “Real Beskar, so rare. I thought that it would be heavier.”

While he strapped the parts of his armour back he was watched by their host. He saw him shift suddenly and a boyish grin spread on his face while he vigorously scratched at the back of his neck: “With all the commotion I forgot to introduce myself. Sorry, I’m Luke, Luke Skywalker.”

Dargak looked at the outstretched hand and simply stared. Slowly his mind set in, he winced and his breath came in a stutter: “Don’t ever tell her your name!”

“I don’t …”

“Yavin. She was there, lost the crew she ran with in the aftermath, lost her ri – husband. Just don’t tell her your name.” He didn’t know if he was over reacting, but he felt that it was better that way.

“I …”

“Promise by everything that is sacred to you.” He had stood up and towered over the man.

There was only one last thing he could do to convince him. He took a deep and slow breath. Slowly he reached up and opened the sealing of his helmet. He wanted to look into the other man’s eyes as he carefully prepared himself. He wanted the young Jedi to see his face as he reached out in the Force.

He surprised the younger man completely, he was met with a rashly created wall of defence. He let himself just linger while he gazed at him. He waited, suppressed his impatience and controlled his uneasiness of feeling exposed. He remained until he felt the presence of the other reaching out.

He closed his eyes as he slowly let go of everything he had encaged before. Bit by bit he unfolded his complete being and history and laid himself bare in front of the Force-user.

Apprenticeship – pain – anger – hurt

Mandalorians – reluctance – bitterness – pain – love – loss – anguish

Vayra – affection – compassion – adoration

Tharam – enthusiasm – jealousy – affection

He was panting when he opened his eyes and searched the other man’s eyes. They were glinting in the dim light.

His voice was hoarse: “Now you know, and she didn’t fare any better.”

He was already putting his helmet back on when he heard the reply: “That’s a lot. Thank you. I won’t tell her. I … I will go by Evan, is that ok?

Dargak let go of a sigh and nodded tiredly. Then he left to find the others. He found them soon enough and smiled at the picture of peace. The three thick blankets had been spread out evenly next to each other but only one was occupied by two curled up figures. The smaller one within the embrace of the taller one.

Silently he pulled his further away and lay down.

-*-*-*-

Days had been slow for him. His meals he took in a far off corner by himself and he was startled by how much he was missing the company of the other in this mundane activity. As much as it had him upset in the beginning to take off his helmet in the backs of the Krybans, it had become something he knew to cherish only now that he had lost it momentarily.

The blonde man, who called himself Evan, was a mystery for him. He was helpful, assisted in the treatment of Dargak, whose health improved every single day, he had long private talks to him and let him even accompany him when he went somewhere far off with Vayra.

Both seemed tired, exhausted when they came back after long hours. Hours in which he tried to be not idle. Exploring parts of the temple had become a daily mission. He didn’t find much, an old scroll here, some derelict pieced of furniture there. Whatever seemed usable or worth the interest of their owner he brought back to their shared room.

In the afternoons he fell into a routine of working out and honing his skills. There were hours he dedicated to exercising with his blaster, there were hours he simply used to strengthen his muscles. Soon enough Dargak joined him and together they sparred.

Until one incident which left him breathless and wary of the other man. He had got the upper hand on Dargak, their wrestling had ended on the ground where he had a steady armlock on the Zabrak.

That was what he thought, he was just waiting for the other man to tap his submission when he was flung across the room and rang his head noisily against the opposite wall. The Zabrak had come running and even excused and it had happened only once. But he had been on his toes since then, accepting his offer for a sparring only reluctantly.

The evenings were boresome most of the times. When he didn’t attend to the heap of arms, whose cleaning and maintaining he had taken upon himself, he listened to the conversations of the others. Most often he couldn’t follow their arguments about aspects of the Force. More interesting was to learn about the history of the Force-users. In between there was Mandalorian history, where they had warred against either of the two fractions, this was what had his attention.

The nights was, what he looked forward to mostly. In their first night at the castle he had laid down just to feel Vayra move from her bedding to his. In his embrace her shivers had finally dissolved and they had woken up in a tangle of arms and legs. For the second night he had draped both layers of blankets atop each other and he had curled around her form as soon as she came to lie down next to him. It hadn’t changed in the other nights.

Then one evening everything changed. The blonde man had waited for them to finish their meals and when he had returned from his solitude meal to join them again he had given them the news. He could have guessed that a Force-user would be hunted by the Imps, but what he heard about the Moff behind it had his blood run hot and cold at the same time.

They had been urged by Evan to ready themselves and leave Myrkr as soon as possible. He even had accompanied them to their shuttle. Which he had eyed with great curiosity. He had watched Evan closely, because all of a sudden something seemed off. Especially when the man asked questions about her ship.

Evan hadn’t wanted to come with them, he had argued that that would draw the Imps involuntarily to them and that he had caused enough suffering already. It had him puzzled what the blonde man meant by it, but Dargak had agreed with a nod, so he hadn’t inquired any further.

Their farewell was without ceremony. Clasping of their arms, good wishes and the young man had turned and walked back into the jungle. His only wish was to be not mentioned and that he would respect.

But they hadn’t returned to Hyllyard City immediately. He had thought that it couldn’t get any worse but it did. It did when Vayra set down the shuttle in a small valley which was cut by a brook. He froze when he recognized the scenery – the holodisk, the man with the dark spiky hair.

He swallowed on nothing as Dargak nodded at three smaller containers. He knew what was inside and finally he understood why Vayra had been exceptionally quiet. She hadn’t removed her helmet since they had left the temple and neither had she said a single word.

He could feel his heart pulsing in his throat when she led the way towards the softly rolling hill. Despite nature taking back and overgrowing the evidence of the pyre he could still see where she had dug the pit all those years ago.

This time, for this pit, for this pyre she would not be alone. They worked in complete silence as they prepared the pyre. Together with Dargak he brought the boxes over to the pile of wood. He eyed her as she stood silently, her visor unmoving and fixed where soon flames would roar high into the sky.

He had seen the armours before, but laying his hands on the dented and ripped material made his chest tight. Breathing became an effort and he could detect a tremble in his hands. He observed the laid-out pieces and looked at Dargak. They both reached for their helmet and changed their systems to a private intern-com.

“The fire won’t be hot enough for the Beskar to burn.” Most was Dura-alloy, but some pieces were made of Beskar and he wondered what their intentions were for those.

A soft shrug told him that the Zabrak hadn’t thought about it: “We will gather it afterwards and we will find a use for it.”

When they stepped back it was up to Vayra to ignite the flames. Respectfully he stepped back and watched her and her father. He couldn’t see much of her, hidden by her father’s frame. But he tensed when she stretched out her arm and her flamethrower came to life.

His throat was tight as Dargak also lifted his arm and ignited his flamethrower. His voice came quietly through his earpiece: “Join us, Tharam.”

He walked closer and mirrored their action. He had to blink several times. He did not only bury the armours of her friends and her lover, he also buried those he had lost on Nevarro.

The fire roared into life and forced them to step back. Dargak wrapped his arms around his daughter and pulled her slowly back with him. When her legs gave out under her he gently placed her on the ground and knelt behind her as she sat cradling her knees to her chest. Rocking herself.

“ _Motir ca'tra nau tracinya. Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a. Cuun hett su_...”

Never had he heard the Zabrak even hum, now as his low voice accompanied the crackling of the burning wood, swallowing became an effort and he felt a shiver run down his spine.

Time passed and everyone was silently enwrapped in their own thoughts. His eyes burnt with the salt of his tears and the smoke of the wood. The blazing orange turned to a simmering red as the wood burnt into coals.

 _“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_. _Jurann. Mayh. Denx_.“ Again it was the dark voice of Dargak that pulled him out of his reverence. Quietly he added the names of those lost to him.

A motion of the Zabrak’s hand beckoned him closer, to take his place. Dargak rose and he sat down behind her, his bent legs to either side of the shaking woman. Softly he placed his arms on hers and waited until she sank back against him. He could feel quiet sobs shaking her and at her tug he tightened his embrace.

Together they watched the Zabrak salvaging what hadn’t been burnt by the fire, placing the pieces darkened by smoke and soot back into one of the containers and bringing them back to the shuttle. He didn’t see him coming back and nestled his helmet against hers.

And time passed on as he held her. The simmering red turned into a quiet black, as the night that surrounded them. She had sunk into herself and only when she inhaled deeply he knew that she hadn’t fallen asleep.

“How do you feel? Can I do anything?”

She didn’t answer him and he only felt her taking deep breaths. He could hear the sadness thick in her voice, but her answer astonished him.

“Relieved.”

She turned to face him and he slowly released her from his embrace: “How so?”

“Dargak had been right. _Val nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la_. It was time to bid them farewell. They wouldn’t have wanted it any differently.”

She quietly pulled his helmet down to meet hers and he reached to cradle the dented cheeks in his hands. He let go when she moved. She made him swallow hard.as she reached up to remove her helmet.

“You don’t have to.”

She only nodded once as she revealed her face to him. He studied the puffed red eyes which still shimmered with tears forming in them, the dried and wet streaks where her tears had run and were still running down her cheeks down to her lips whose corners tug up in a still sad smile.

With a strangled sound that escaped his throat he ran his thumbs over her cheeks to wipe away the stains. He lowered his head again, but she wrapped her arms around him and pulled herself against his chest.

No matter how tight his chest was his heart started searing high: “I …” He didn’t know how to express his hopes. It was not the right time to do so and he shied away from the inappropriateness of verbalising them at that moment.

“We can leave now. There is nothing holding me back anymore.”

Her voice might have not been back to its old fullness, her smile might have not reached her eyes yet, but his nod was eager and he helped her up.

Dargak was sitting in the pilot’s chair, waiting for them. He closed the shuttle after they had entered and as soon as they were both seated in the back area he lifted off.

He was glad that she was leaning into him so that he could wrap an arm around her. He was happy for every minute she was close to him and he was anticipating the time when she was ready for him.

“I’ll be there and I’ll be waiting. … You will tell me when the time is right?”

He chuckled his sharp inhale away as she wrapped both arms round his middle.

“I know you are … and … yes, you will be the first to know.”

It was not mirth, it was exhaustion that had both chuckle softly until silence returned for the rest of their travel.

-*-*-*-

He was not only tired, but completely exhausted. The wound, the training lessons with the Jedi, the pyre and the wake. He had learnt well from the blond man and without letting his daughter or Tharam know he had shielded their presence during the process of burning the armours.

He could feel the presence of the beasts prowling at the perimeters of his shield, constantly prying. It had kept all his concentration. But he knew that his _ade_ were save – yes both his _ade_. A fond smile had spread along his lips and he had renewed his efforts to keep them shielded while they were clinging to each other in the dying light of the coals.

He didn’t know when he had come to think of Tharam as his kin, but soon enough he would be part of their family. With the time drawing on he began to shift his energy, he was no longer able to hold up the complete shield. If he were to falter he would have to call them into the shuttle.

But they soon enough came and safely seated he took off towards Hyllyard City. He looked at the last and empty vial, Talon Karrde had to know about this. And he needed to know more about this Imp Skywalker had referred to. He couldn’t and wouldn’t ask Karrde via com, too many could listen into, so he waited until they had finally landed.

In the light of the rising sun the city looked bright and inviting, but he knew there were enough dark alleys, just like in every city. Karrde’s place was unmissable, the biggest building, a palace by its own rights, not so much from the outsides, but definitely from the inside.

Several droids of different classes were swirling about when they entered. Dargak looked around the mass of people gathered in the large room. Followed by Vayra and Tharam he strode into the midst of them all. More and more grew silent around them until even Karrde took notice of them.

“A party in the early morning?” He tried to sound amused to cover his fatigue.

“You?! … You made it?!”

He only inclined his head and waited until their host ushered them to a private room.

“There, you will need this for your future hunters. I don’t know if we got them all.” He dropped the empty vial on the desk.

Karrde took it with interest: “You got hurt and this saved you?”

He just nodded.

“There are no symptoms?”

“No” He reported how the treatment had to be done and what to look out for.

When Karrde wanted to employ him further he declined: “It is no longer safe for us.” He waited a second before he surprised his host with his knowledge: “When is the Imp to arrive?”

“The … how do you know? …”

“I’ve got my sources. So, when?” He made Karrde inch back with his looming presence.

“In a week. He said in a week.”

“Good. Then we will take our leave today.” He had felt Vayra tense and seen the squirm which Tharam hardly suppressed.

“Please, you must be tired and starved. At least you … ermm smell like you could use some quality time in a fresher. Stay for today and tonight. Then you can leave all rested.”

He turned to look at his _ade_ and when both nodded he agreed to Karrde’s suggestion.

“Good! Perfect! I will have you something prepared. In a separate room, naturally.”

“Greatly appreciated.”

“You could just stay here. I will have another chair brought and you can lock this door too, so you won’t be disturbed at all. But after you have eaten I must ask you all to join us.”

Tiredly he agreed. And after Karrde had left it was only droids which came into the room, to bring the chair and their meal. They arranged everything so that Tharam could eat with them effortlessly. And he felt how much the younger man liked the arrangement.

“You’ve missed spending mealtimes with us?” He noted drily.

“Uh … hmm yeah. You only understand what you had when you no longer have it.”

He was silent for a moment. He didn’t know if the warrior had noticed how deep these words actually went. But he had seen his daughter’s sharp turn at his words, it had done something to her. He pulled off his helmet and gazed intently at her, then, with a deep inhale he reached out and tapped had her within the Force, asking for access.

She never had her helmet off that quickly before, with wide eyes she stared into his and what she sent him had him smile widely. He had been worried about what the burning of the armours might trigger in her, but he felt re radiate. She felt free – at last.

“Indeed.”

“You know it’s scary when you do that.” The scoff came from the side where Tharam stood and it made both grin widely.

“Then we better return to more earthly things. Let’s eat then entertain our host and pray for an early evening.”

-*-*-*-

They had come back and his eyes immediately sought the smaller of the three armour clad warrior. He kept his disappoint that he couldn’t see her face at bay and waited patiently until they came back from their meal.

He smiled broadly as he immediately saw her uncovered face. Her father’s appearance was enough to not only make him stare but everybody else present too. With a few strides he was over and a last one brought him into her private sphere.

“I’m so glad to welcome you back dear … Mandalorian lady.”

He knew it would earn him a snort, but the more than not impressed insinuation had him feel slighted. He suppressed his hurt.

“Of course you gave me a name to go by, but as my last attempt to pronounce it correctly failed so miserably I thought a word of praise would be more fitting.”

He hushed her objection with determination and hooked her arm into his: “It is all business when men tell of their job, I’d really like to hear your account of it.” He heard her sigh as she gave in and followed him to a quieter area. He had hoped for a colourful and emotional display of their story but was greatly disappointed.

He waved a droid to bring some drinks and hoped to loosen her tongue that way, how he ended up being more tipsy than her was beyond him. Maybe that was also the reason why any attempt to either rest his hand on her thigh or lay his arm around her were turned away easily.

But he noted the rising blush in her cheeks and wondered if she was just too shy about it. _That could be solved_ – he thought with a grin and his wink earned him an even deeper blush. It was his acclaimed task for the day to not let this blush vanish from her cheeks, to keep her lips smiling and to have these amazing eyes sparkle.

He was disappointed, she, but also the other two Mandalorians, announced their retreat for the day. He had hoped for a longer evening, but there was still the night which he would use to his advantage.

-*-*-*-

He was dead tired, already before their meal. Having to spend the rest of the day and more or less entertaining the people who loitered in Karrde’s home was more than tiring. He kept close to Dargak and let the older man do most of the talking.

His mind was mostly preoccupied with their host and how he tried to get closer to Vayra. If his gaze could kill, the man with the sleek black hair and the white temples would have dropped dead the instant he had led Vayra away.

But as it was he could only seethe at the clumsy attempts to gain her affection. The only satisfaction he had was being able to see how Karrde utterly failed again and again. He longed for the day to come to an end, to finally wash the sweat and grime off and fall into a bed dead to the world for several hours.

The whole wing was to be theirs, their host had said, he wouldn’t have thought him that considerate. The long corridor ended with three doors on one side and one on the other. Behind the three to their right they had found their bedrooms.

Vayra had silently opened the first door and shut it behind her after she had slipped in. Dargak had opened the next door, but then had gone on to the last one and vanished behind it. He was sure that it hadn’t been by accident that the Zabrak had made sure he and Vayra had adjoining rooms.

The last room, which lay on the opposite side of his room was a large fresher. With both Krybans gone to their rooms he had opened the fourth door and had had a peek at the luxury hidden behind.

It was huge. A large tub sunk into the floor made up most of the space to his left. On the right side was a spacious shower. He had to corner two tiled walls in order to actually see it. He sighed at the prospect of being able to drench his body with real and hot water. Next to the sink there was another door and he could guess what lay behind it.

He gazed down along his form and then back through the open door towards the room he was to sleep in. His decision was easily made. Getting rid of his armour in his room and with two quick steps back to take the desired shower.

He closed both, bathroom door and his own, and started shedding his armour, piling the pieces neatly on the table in the middle of the room. Just in his helmet and briefs he listened at the door, but no sounds were to be heard. He opened the door an inch, the corridor was empty. Quickly he stepped into the fresher room and stripped from the rest, placing it neatly in the corner between the door and the tiled wall.

He had always been quick with his showers, but today he used his time and savoured the heat of actual water. Only when he had decided that he felt clean again he left the shower and looked for a towel. He grunted as he stepped into his briefs and slipped on the helmet and went back to his room to fetch the towel.

He was rubbing his hair dry as remembered his shaving things. He shook his head in disbelief at his own forgetfulness . He would just have to make another trip to the bathroom and back. Steam coming from hot water was slowly clouding the room when he entered.

He wondered if he had forgotten to switch the shower off. He was about to step round the tiled corners when he heard a soft hum of contentedness, a sigh of pleasant relaxation and splashing sounds.

His eyes roamed the room and they fell onto a small stack of clothes. He didn’t need to inspect them to know who they belonged to and this knowledge made him freeze. Vayra, in the shower, naked, not in a shift like on Ossus where he had helped her to wash off the grime and blood after the fight.

His ears picked up the sound of a bar of soap being scrubbed over hair. He counted and memorized the seconds it took her to have her hair shampooed. The fall of the water full with froth from the soap sounded differently when she rinsed her hair.

But what made his eyes widen was the rhythmical splashing sounds. He tried to dismiss the image his carnal instinct flooded him with. It was just the lengths of her hair hitting her back, she was only trying to wash out the soap, he told himself repeatedly. His mind showed him another picture. _Skin against skin, his hands on her thighs, feeling the taunt tendon under his fingers, spreading her wide as he thrusted into her_.

He took a shaky breath when the only sound that filled the room was the rush of the running water. But she wasn’t done. He could hear it, she was not content with the result, she was soaping her hair a second time. His exhales was unsteady when she rinsed her hair the second time.

Quietly he turned and his hand was already on the door knob to unlock the door – he heard the splashes of water falling freely down to the tiled floor, she was done with her hair, she was lathering herself, the sound of skin brushing up and down skin. His helmet sank against the door. He could see her before his mental eyes. Her hands running over her arms, the rubbing sounds short, down her neck, very short sounds. A neck he would cover with kisses. _Kisses from her earlobe, along the tendon to where her clavicles met in the triangle_.

The movement sounded rounder, she was coating her breasts with the foam. _His hands on her breasts, cupping, kneading, showering them in kisses, lapping the areolas, sucking her hard nipples into his mouth and flicking his tongue tip over them_.

His hands clenched into fists as he felt himself tense up. It was not only the heat and damp in the bathroom that had him sweating by now. The tension had reached his groins and he gazed down to the tent in his briefs.

He heard the shift of her stance. Her leg pressed against the tiled wall to steady herself. _Her leg round his hip pressing him against her, into her_. The sound of her hands – _his hand_ – _running along her legs_ , long lathering, rubbing sounds, _from her round hips, along her thighs, to the muscle of her calf. Down on the outside and up in the inside_.

A shiver ran down his spin and made him jerk involuntarily, he heard when her hand had reached the length of her thigh and reached her core. _His fingers circling her clit, his fingers running along her folds, of finding her wet, hot and ready, his cock guided by her hand to spread these fold, to thrust into her, to fill her and thrust into her again and again_.

His muscles tensed as he pressed his feet into the floor, his hip pressed forwards in reflex. The fogged air didn’t seem to hold enough oxygen for him to breathe, he was breathing raggedly, panting.

He froze and swivelled around. He had been too preoccupied with gaining control over himself that he had missed the missing sound of the shower. She was leaving the walled cabin. He could see her, but she didn’t see him. His eyes wandered up along her figure, his abdominal muscles fluttered as he exhaled erratically. Her hair was a dripping wet and tangled mass over her head as she bent over to rub herself dry.

But he saw it clearly, too clearly despite the damp fog hanging in the room. Droplets of water still clung to her arms, her shoulders. And a stubborn strand of hair was still clinging to her collarbone, to her chest, down to her breast, sending a rivulet of water over the perked pinkness of her nipple.

His Adam’s apple helplessly bobbed up and down as he swallowed on nothing. As soon as she wrapped her hair in the towel and straightened up she would see him.

 _Good_ – she would see him standing there in his briefs, sweating and panting in arousal, she would see him standing stiff with his erection, with the wet stain of pre-cum darkening his briefs – _not good_.

Then she was done and he was done in for. While wrapping her hair she rose. She froze, her hands stilled in the process of wrapping her hair. Her mouth opened in stunned surprise and the towel slid to the ground.

She simply stared wide-eyed at him and he let his helmet sink to his chest. Ashamed he closed his eyes, preparing himself for the well-deserved rant. But there was only silence. Nerve-tearing silence as he awaited blindly his punishment over his voyeurism.

His shoulders hunched forward. A scream, a rant, a punch, a kick, anything to make this silence go away. His knuckles cracked as he worked his fists. He still couldn’t find enough air, he held his breath between his shallow inhales and when he let them go, his exhale fluttered helplessly.

The hand on his neck startled him, woke him from his living nightmare. His pulse jumped, she must feel it as her fingers trailed along his neck. They stilled, she was feeling for his heartbeat, it spiked again.

He looked for words, he raked his brain, rummaged through any explanation or excuse for his intrusion. Nothing came to his mind, it was a blank sheet, a dark void on whose edge flames of his desire burnt.

He had to face her and forced his eyes open. And wished he hadn’t. A pained groan escaped his vocorder as his eyes fell on the softly defined abs of her belly, her round hips and the small short cropped patch of dark hair. Panic surged through him as he threw his head back. The ceiling was a much safer place to look at.

But the damage was done and his chest shook with his next trembling breath. His air valve just gave up on him and a whined groan worked its way up his throat. His hands worked against him and his fists lost their fight against clenching up. His legs boycotted him and started a tremble of their own.

And everything seemed to fall down this dark abyss as soon as he felt her breath hot against his sternum.

“I … I…”

He was gasping for air when her tongue languidly drew over his chest and licked over his nipple.

“Ga – aw – ds!”

His hands locked on her waist as a cold blow brushed over his chest.

“I-gnh-m ...”

A wheeze wrung from his throat, her waist, ribs and arms slipped through his hands as her tongue left a wet trail down from his sternum to his navel and beyond to the seam of his briefs.

“… so-sor-sorry.”

Her hands grabbed his forearms and his fingers closed around hers, she used his weight to pull herself to a stand again. Her mouth never leaving his skin.

“Uh … mmm … hu …mmm. You will be.”

His eyes flew wide. He had expected everything but this. He needed to know if she was serious, he wanted to see her to know that she meant it. But her hands pressed against the sides of his helmet keeping him in place as her tongue snaked along his throat up to his chin.

“Tell me … what made you so hard.”

Garbling sounds instead of a proper voice was all he could produce. His hands found her waist again, thumbs and index fingers spanned against her iliac crest. His biceps tensed as he fought against the urge to pull her flush against him.

“Did you watch me?”

“N-gnh-o.”

His exhales came in wheezes as she raked her nails down his shoulders.

“Did you just stand there and listen while I soaped and rinsed, while my hands ran over my body?”

“Y-gnrgh-eah.”

All his abdominal muscles contracted as her nails raked down his flanks.

“Did you imagine it were your hands, that ran along my body? That explored my body and pleasured me?”

Strong fingers ran over the tensing muscles of his buttocks and she pulled him against her. His grip tightened, he would leave bruised imprints, and automatically his hip rolled into her. 

“What else did you imagine? That you fucked me?”

His inhale locked up with her words and a groan rumbled up through his chest at the friction he succeeded to gain.

“Hmmm. Thought so.”

She sounded pleased and … amused … and then the heat of her body was gone, she had stepped away from him. He forced his head to swing forward, it dizzied him.

“N-gnrh-o. D-don’t.”

Feebly his fingers clutched against empty air. He blinked to bring her into focus again, she was smirking, a corner of her mouth curved up in an impish grin. She knew that he was looking at her through his visor when she wiggled her brows at him, when she curled a finger at him once, when she walked backwards towards the tilled walls again.

He took a tentative step, another auto-driven step, he followed her meekly like a pet Akk-dog, he tailed after her like an headlight-entranced Fathier. He stepped round the two corners and faced her in the shower cabin.

Her fingers hooked under the lower edge of his helmet and tugged him to her. He staggered forwards, pushing them against the tiled wall. She grunted at the involuntary onslaught, she moaned as her hand on his lower back pressed him again against her. And she made him growl as she pulled his briefs over his hips and down his thighs.

“Now show me what you have seen. Do what you have imagined.”

Her leg brushed along his thigh as she worked his briefs lower with her foot. His helmet connected with the tiles next to her head, the ringing sound echoing hollowly in the tiled room. He saw something off-white being flicked towards the outer wall.

He remembered, though only shortly, his briefs. Then his mind went blank again as her calf pressed him forward to her warmth again. He could feel the heat between her legs and the tantalizing slow roll of her hips

“Ev-ev-ev …”

He was not even able to phrase a single word question, too many syllables, too many letters.

“Everything.” Her voice was a husky growl against his skin. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her mouth was on the juncture of his clavicles, nibbling with taunt lips. The muscles of his neck tensed.

“I … But I … All?”

“Everything and all. Till the blissful end.”

He pressed himself off the tiles and widened his stance. He cupped her face as he rested his helmet against her forehead. He exhaled through his nose and the sound filled his helmet.

“If I …” His husky growl filled his ears, he had to clear his throat to be understandable enough, “If I go too far, tell me to stop.”

Her chuckle was low, hungry and stabbed him right in his groin.

“Start already, or I will.”

His hands trembled as he ran his thumb over her cheeks and started exploring her face. His thumb trailed over her slightly opened lips and she rested her head back. When his hands wandered along her throat she closed her eyes.

He trailed his fingers over very inch he wanted to cover with his lips. When he tickled her, her mouth tugged up in a smile or she shivered under his touch. He studied her face as his fingers wandered between the valley of her breast along her sternum. Her breathing got deeper when he trailed his palms along the curved underside of her breasts.

The tensed pinkness of her areolas, the circle of tiny knobs around her hardened nipples drew his attention from her face. Only when her breathing changed his eyes flickered back to check that it was a hitch or sigh of pleasure.

His gaze flickered back and forth when he ghosted his thumb over the erect knob. Smiles curled his mouth when she arched her back into his touch. He tested everything his mind could come up with, soft ghosts of touches, narrowing and widening circles, slow and fast twirls, mellow pinches. He marvelled that he had her writhe and mewl softly under his administrations.

His fingers had to replace his tongue as he trailed them wide spread down her stomach, along her sides. His thumbs pressed along the V of soft flesh and she made his accelerated shallow pants hitch when she widened her stance.

He held his breath when he pressed against her, his hard cock caught between their bodies. His left ran over her side and slipped behind, pressing against the small of her back, but she just arched again, more and widened her stance with a shuffle of her foot.

“Do it.”

Her rasped whisper gave him the courage to continue. His right glided down over the small patch of darkness and cupped her slickened heat. He had to pause to compose himself. Too searing hot was the tightening coil in his loins.

When his fingertips continued their exploration, stroking and tipping along and in between her folds he delighted in her soft groans.

“Stars, what are you doing down there.”

He grinned at the unfocused stare that she threw him after she had willed her heard to tilt forwards.

“Exploring every inch of you.” For every syllable he drew a breath.

True to his words he slipped his finger into her and, obliging her plea for more, added another. He pumped into her and met her thrusting. Intently he listened to her gasped breathing as he circled her clit. Her panting told him that she was close and when she clawed at his back leaving her mark there, he held her close, guided her through the waves of extasy of her release.

She was trembling in his arm and he was afraid to let her go. He reached for her leg and hitched it round his hip as he stepped between her legs.

“Up.”

He hissed at the friction her body caused on his hard cock. His hands supported her rear and she wrapped her arms round his shoulders. Her body cradled against his chest had him purr. He wanted her, more than ever, but not in here.

He had her look at him in confusion when he took the first steps around the tiled walls and started to shuffle awkwardly.

“Fuck!”

She giggled and he shifted her weight with a growl.

“That too. No, my briefs.”

He pulled them along with his foot as he shuffled another step forwards. She looked down over her shoulder and started laughing. Her chest shook against his as he made his awkward way forwards.

“Are you really going to … like that?” Her shoulders shook with laughter and he had to jostle her up to keep her in his grip.

“Yes, no one is left behind.” He tried to make his growl stern and it made her laugh the more.

“Shhh. Listen. Anyone out there?”

She stifled her laughter into giggles and snorts and he jostled her again to make her stop.

“Hush. Open it a bit.”

Her shift on his hips made him moan and she had the audacity to roll her hips again against his groin. Heavily he leaned his shoulder against the door and sucked in heavy breaths. It made her giggle again. He had to concentrate on his task and not on how his shaft was nestled between her folds.

“You have to open my door, too.” With a breathless whisper he hooked his toe into the seam of his briefs and tugged it along.

“Nope, my room.” Her voice was muffled by his shoulder as she tug in her head, shaking with her giggles.

“It’s closer.” He all but impatiently growled.

“It’s farther.” When she lifted her head to peer into his gaze and nudged her head towards the door to their left he understood her line of thinking and he groaned his okay.

Her hand inched the door open until she could stick her head out.

“Empty.”

“Hope you haven’t locked it.” He really hoped she hadn’t.

“Oopsey.” When he started to groan in frustration she wriggled against him, nudged her core along his length. “Joking. It’s not locked.”

He was barely able to press out a grateful: “Good.”

He continued his sideward shuffle and his heart raced, fearing that any moment a door would open or someone would come up the stairs and enter the hallway.

His heart was racing and he was trembling by the time they had the door to her room closed behind them. He heard the clicking sound when she locked the door’s mechanism and kicked his briefs free. Her room was as furnished as his and he beelined for the bed.

He paused and angled his helmet at her, he had to clear his throat first before he could rasp: “How do you want it?”

He knew what he wanted, how he wanted so savour her and realizing how much control it would take, he softly shuddered.

“How did you imagine it? What did you see while I was showering?”

“I ... uh…”

“Let me feel what you did.”

His hand supported her back as he knelt down on the bed and carefully lowered her onto the soft sheets. His helmet moved slowly as his eyes raked over her body. He couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down his spine.

When his hand followed his eyes, worshipping every single curve of her body, she arched her back and moaned softly. Again he listened to her breathing as he cupped her breasts, teased her nipples and rand his fingers down to her mound, over it and further to the slick heat of her folds. He stilled and simply cupped her sex. Revelling in and digesting the feeling of her against his hand.

“As much as I want to see you when you come, I’d rather taste you.” He smiled at her gasp.

He rose and walked to the door to switch off the light. Simultaneously he reached for the switch next to the door and to the helmet light. She looked ethereal in the cold light which he helmet provided and he stalked towards her. He didn’t know why, but seeing her just in the small circle of his helmet’s torch woke the hunter in him.

When she giggled at his approach and flung an arm over her eyes to shield herself from the glaring shine he all but flung himself at her. The bed bounced under him as he landed next to her with a fake growl. His eyes ran along her body before he reached up to switch of the light and then he unclasped his helmet. The dull sound of it hitting the rug next to the bed had both silenced.

Softly he pulled her arm from her face and moved to hover over her. Leaning in, his mouth found hers to place a first soft kiss before he captured her bottom lip between his. His tug had her purr and he could feel her body squirm under him. His kisses moved over her chin and down her throat to the soft dent of her flesh.

He didn’t stop there, hungrily his mouth searched for her breast, the tensed sensitic knob. His hands spread over her ribs as she arched into his mouth with a groan. He teased her with his tongue, with his teeth and with his lips. He yearned to hear more of the sweet noises he could elicit from her as he gave each hard bud his reverences.

He ignored the heat pooling in his groin, the ache of his twitching cock. Each of her soft moans went straight to his core and stirred his arousal. But she had asked for his fantasy, for all of it.

His hands wandered along her sides to her hips and he manoeuvred further down, found her legs and his place between them. He roamed his hands along her thighs feeling the smooth skin along the taunt tendon and spread her legs wider for him.

He shuffled his form lower, his kisses followed the scent of her first release and he groaned as his tongue slid through her damp folds until he returned to lap over her clit. He hummed a throaty laugh into her as her legs threatened to spring shut, trapping his head buried in her. With soft massages along her inner thigh he coaxed her to open again.

Her hips bucked as he sucked at her clit. He could taste her on his tongue and he couldn’t resist from lapping along her folds, to press between them. He marvelled at her wetness and a low groan vibrated through him and into her at the realization that he was the reason for it.

Her whimper as he pulled away made all his muscles tense. He just had to dive back in and as he twirled his tongue rounder her clit he slid a finger along her fold. She gasped and bucked and her movement made him slip deeper.

His breath stuttered at the heated dampness that surrounded him and rasped moan spurned him on to add another, starting with a slow rhythm. Her hips met his pumping and pushed them deeper into her.

He was panting as he rested his head on her stomach as he continued to pump into her. His hard length was throbbing and when he reached for it with his other hand he felt himself leaking.

“Let me …” She must have felt his shift and she moved to rest on her elbows.

He removed from her and crawled upwards, hovering over her as she reached for his cock. At her first touch he jerked, a tremble ran through him. His moan came muffled as he buried his face in her breasts.

Her rocked into her pumping and stutteringly nibbled at the softness between his lips. A streak like electricity ran though him when he felt his tip touch her wetness.

“Sh-sheath me, n-need you.” He was barely able to follow her guide as she rubbed his leaking head along her folds, sliding between them to find the entrance to her core.

With a slow push he entered and she trembled under him. Inch by inch he drew moans from her. She was so warm and tight around him. His muscles quivered as he stilled completely sheathed in her. He could feel how she tightened and softly pulsed around him.

Her moan was needy and compelled him to move. He slowly pulled back until only his bulbous head was left inside. He savoured the feeling of her walls rubbing along his shaft. When he slowly pushed all the way back in and her moan turned into a throaty whine he chuckled breathily.

It was maddening for both of them. And after a couple of slow teasing moves he couldn’t withstand any longer and slowly started a rhythm with languid strokes. Thrusting into her steadily. He could feel her walls clenching, tightening around him and increased his pace.

She gasped as he stilled to run his hands under her hips and lift her to a different angle before thrusting into her again. Her body arched and she moaned loudly, each thrust made her inner grip tighter. He was doing something right and it urged him on, his grunts became hoarse the closer he got.

His hands clutched her hips as he pounded into her, the pooling in his loins became searing and he reached between them, finding her clit he V-ed his fingers and groaned at the feeling of him vanishing between her folds over and over again.

Her harsh breathing became pants as he rubbed his fingers over her sensitive clit and he stroke until she came with a wailing moan, tensing and bucking under him. The tightening sensation was too much, it sent him over the edge with her. He didn’t register how he buried himself inside her, his pushes stuttering as he spilled his release into her, blinded by the extasy as his own orgasm rolled though him.

He was panting as he collapsed boneless onto her, rolling them over entangled as they were. He stroke her panting form, caressed her sides and back as far as his arms reached. Slowly his panting subsided and his chest heaved with a deep sigh. He was about to fall asleep in their messy entangle when he heard her drowsy whisper.

“That’s how you imagined it?”

“Hmmmm more or less.” Lazily he rolled his hips against her.

She purred and nestled a kiss into the crook of his neck: “I hope you share all your fantasies with me.”

His breath hitched a bit and his cheeks flushed.

“What?” Her rumbling grin sounded lewd as if she could guess what his mind was able to conjure. And when he didn’t answer she continued with her tease: “ That naughty?”

“Ahem …” He felt embarrassment colouring him even more and thought it strange with the intimate situation they were still lying in.

“No … Yes …” He had to gather all wits to overcome his flustered state: “You will see, one day … maybe.”

The way she wriggled into him had him tighten his embrace and he felt relaxed for the first time in a long period. He didn’t want to move and blindly grabbed into the drawer of the nightstand. There had been some cloths in his, so there should be some in hers too. He rolled them over once again to get at the cloth and pulling from her he wiped them clean

When he discarded the cloth with a flick of his hand he pulled her close again. Falling asleep with her entangled along his form was the best idea his clouded mind could come up with.

-*-*-*-

But sleep was not granted to them as a rather soft but persistent knocking sounded on the door. He fumbled for his helmet and quickly pulled it on. Vayra was out of the bed with the blanket wrapped around her naked form before he could get up.

When she opened the door, Karrde’s eyes hungry registered how the hastily thrown over blanket barely covered her. His tongue darted out and he wettened his lips. He had expected her to be more open when in private, but that open … it made him hard in an instant.

Tharam’s hands feverishly searched for something to cover himself up with. His eyes never left the figure of the smaller man standing in the door, illuminated by the light from the corridor.

Then Karrde's eyes registered a discarded off-white piece of clothing lying next to her feet. His brain proceeded slower than his nose which recorded the scent of sex lingering in the air – briefs for a male.

A vambrance, he wanted to curse. It might do the job of ridiculing him. A pauldron, he let go of it immediately. A blaster, he placed it next to him on the bed. Finally, his hands gripped something larger, heavier and more solid. He slammed it in front of his crotch, grabbed the blaster and strode to door.

As the light caught his form the Karrde's face fell. Never had he seen anything like that. Even with just a black cuirass covering his bareness the towering man felt intimidating and his anger rolled off in waves from him. The growl he heard come from the helmet made his blood freeze.

“Ner! … La. Cuyir. Hiibir. … Or in your words. She. Is. Taken.”

His mouth worked silently as the Mandalorian slammed the door shut in front of his face. He stood there for a few more moments before he silently turned and walked back down the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ni va gar buir.: I'm not your father  
> Ner meshurok: my precious (one) lit. my gemstone  
> Oya: Many meanings: lit. “Let's hunt!” and also “Stay alive!”  
> Beskaryc Kar’ta: Iron heart, Beskar heart  
> cin vhetin: fresh start, clean slate - lit. white field, virgin snow - term indicating the erasing of a person's past when they become Mandalorian, and that they will only be judged by what they do from that point onwards; like the *first turn of the screw cancels all debts* for sailors.  
> ad’ika: little one  
> ad: child, son, daughter  
> Motir ca'tra nau tracinya. Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a. Cuun hett su...:Those who stand before us light the night sky in flame. Our vengeance burns brighter still. Burns brighter still...  
> Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum: Daily remembrance of those passed on I’m still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal. Followed by repetition of loved ones’ names.  
> Val nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.: They are not gone, merely marching far away.  
> ade: children


	41. Black is hard to achieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first part is Din's POV: a summary of chapters 7 and 8, what is happening plus what's going on in him most likely. And it got long, way too long.. Look for the -*-*-*- separation if you have already had enough of that... because also my AU part got out of hand ... Oh well I blame the current times....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songlist just for my AU part .. for Din's POV enjoy the OST :-)  
> 1) (Vayra POV, temple) Dzivia – Treasure of the angels https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NbZ0PBKp  
> 2) (Vayra POV, Hyllyard City) Barbara Furtuna - Lamentu Di U Castagnu https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GA7F9ViibBg  
> 3) (Dargak POV) D’Angelo – May I Stand Unshaken https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=opze_jNL7U8  
> 4) (Tharam POV) Fear Of The Dark acoustic cover - Thomas Zwijsen https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6vE0oFFSE7c  
> 5) (Tulata POV) SAMAïA - Lo Boier https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCDGd9arng8&list=RDDo186kUmeM4&index=27  
> 6) (Paz POV) Jo Blankenburg - Anumati (ft. Uyanga Bold) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zY6fTKEh9m4&list=RDDo186kUmeM4&index=41

He had been lucky go make his way out alive and was definitely not willing to make any acquaintance with the x-wings. But the money would only take him so far. Yet he didn’t what to think of Karga’s call. He didn’t trust the man who was his former boss, even though he said that they were even with both of them alive.

He couldn’t care less about how many imperial guards were now on Nevarro, he wasn’t interested in the man’s problems when it came to the despotic rule which impeded the livelihood of the guild, he was no longer a part of it.

But when he heard Karga offer one last commission he paid better attention. Everything in him went cold, when the older man suggested using the child as bait. This was no option at all, it was completely out of question.

He was steaming with anger when he switched off the holo. It was irrelevant that Karga wanted to clear his name with the guild. It didn’t matter, he didn’t matter, only the child mattered. But Karga had been right with one thing. It was a means to get at the Imperial client, to clear the history on the child. Too many hunters had been on his track already.

With more resolve than anger he hacks the coordinates into the ship’s computer. He wouldn’t go alone to Nevarro. He wanted someone to watch his six, someone he could trust, and there was only one person he knew of, that was if she was still on Sorgan.

The cantina was the first place he wanted to look for her and already from afar he could make out the loudly cheering voices. He smirked under his helmet when he found her as the winner of a recent fight. Of course she had to get hold on some credits, even here and she was a born fighter.

He hadn’t thought that winning her over would be so challenging, and if he had known what the magic word was that made her agree to join him, he would have dropped it much earlier. Kicking some imperial arse was what made her dark eyes lit up.

And again he manages to make her eyes sparkle, even brighter this time. Not the dark and deadly fire he had seen in her eyes in the cantina. It was a brighter fire, only a Mandalorian could have looked happier than her when he opened the weapon-locker.

Already during his first stay on Sorgan he had found out that Cara didn’t want to have much to do with the child and he needed her along his side and not as a babysitter. There was just another person who he could trust and quickly he brought the ship on course to Arvala 7.

He was glad to see the Ugnaught again, somehow it even felt good to see the Blurgs again. What he hadn’t accounted for at all was to see that hunter droid again. He had been up in a second with his gun in his hand, Cara hadn’t been much slower and he was glad that she had agreed to come with him.

He couldn’t believe the Ugnaught, no matter how much the earnest man tried, the droid was a hunter, programmed to kill. That it served tea and seemed completely demure had nothing to do with it. That it had developed a personality didn’t mean a thing. It had wanted to kill the child. He didn’t trust it.

But he needed the man, for the child. He needed him to protect the child and if only he hadn’t been so desperate …he agreed to have the droid come too. Rolling his eyes under his helmet he didn’t even start to argue about the Blurrgs.

They were quick to pack everything into the ship and he set the course to Nevarro. With some time to kill he agreed to an arm-wrestling competition with Cara, it would keep his mind from what could happen on the small planet which had been his home for the last few years.

She was strong and neither gave the other an opportunity, in the end the winner would be the one with the better stamina. But then he felt her grip falter, first confusion, then panic was written all over her face as she reached for her throat in a try to get rid of the tightening feeling.

He couldn’t understand at first, then he saw the child’s outstretched claw – just like when he did that thing to the Mudhorn – immediately he grabbed the little troublemaker. Cara was their friend, their wrestling was a friendly competition, how could he make the little one understand?

He understood the fear Cara must have felt, he would have felt not differently, only Kuiil was curious, he had heard rumours. But simple rumours were of no help for him. He didn’t intervene in their standoff, he was too preoccupied watching IG-11. The droid had come closer, backing up Kuiil and although it didn’t do anything, its sheer presence was enough to count as a threat.

The tension dissolved only slowly when Kuiil started working on a new pram. He saw Cara’s relief when the child stayed with him while they retreated to the cockpit. Although he tried to stay as vague as possible, Cara had earned to know the truth and thus he told her more about what happened on Nevarro.

He might have told her even more, but the confounded droid entered and he couldn’t believe his ear when it announced that it had prepared a second meal wanted to know if they would care to be served in the cockpit or below. He had turned to look incredulously at the machine. Food was the last thing he had on his mind.

He only wished that he had Cara’s optimism, in her word they would make short work of the Imps. There was nothing on this planet that could make him feel better about it. And the bad feelings did not subside when he saw Karga waiting with three members of the guild. What had Karga to complain about Cara’s presence, he hadn’t come alone either! He made sure that she would stay with him, she would watch his six.

His anger had no chance to ebb when Karga wanted to see the child. Even though he could understand the man’s curiosity he was still on the edge and his hand hovered over his blaster. He only eased his poised stance when the baby’s pram was hovering next to his side again. A place, which it didn’t leave during their walk across the lava fields.

As planned they made camp within half a day’s march. Even though he couldn’t participate, it was good for the others that he had been able to shoot one of the lava-goats. Even the child liked the meat and watching Kuiil feed the little one made him almost forget about what he would have to face the coming day.

But he was uneasy about it, Karga sounded too sure, tried too hard to make him feel safe. No matter how often the man said that he should trust him, he did not, he could not. Too much was at stake.

He hadn’t heard them coming, despite their size they had been silent. And then everything happened in a blur of action. Karga was attacked, a Blurrg was lifted into the air, the Trandoshan hunter was also taken, then the beasts went at the Blurrgs again, before Cara could take one out.

All the while he had been shooting at them, it was hard to tell how many there actually were, but then it was him and one of the beasts. Attacked from behind he was just able to roll over before the huge claws dragged him over the dirt. Sharp talons dug into his Beskar protected chest. The sheer weight of the animal was enough to make him grunt. And even though shot at it didn’t let go of him, only the fire of his flamethrower made it back off.

His first thought before and after the fight was the safety of the baby. The pod had kept it safe, Cara and Kuiil were safe, he wanted to thank whichever deity was willing to listen when he heard Karga’s groans of pain.

The cuts were deep, drenching his forearm in blood. Cara was quick to help, all the knowledge from her days as a Dropper kicking in, but the Kolto she injected didn’t do its work and they had no more medipacks.

Getting into the town without Karga would be close to impossible, they just had to safe the man somehow. His mind was revolting around the different option when he saw the inhabitant of the tiny brown robe put his hand on Karga’s wound.

No one had seen the baby leaving its pod and waddling over. Only when it had suddenly appeared next to them they started to react. Cara wanted to take it away, Karga wailed that it wanted to eat him, only Kuiil told them to wait.

He watched and listened. Karga’s wails subsided, his face crunched up in surprise. The deep lacerations began to shrink. The child was using its strange powers to heal Karga. Everyone was stunned, even as the baby sat back, obviously worn out, the wound on Karga’s arm continued to fully close, smooth skin were the deep gashes had been.

The Mudhorn, Cara, now Karga, he had to do everything in his power, under no circumstances was the child to fall prey to the Imps.

The event of last night had him thinking, he was too deep in thought – the child, the Imps and the client, their plan – that he hadn’t noticed that the two hunters had fallen back. Both he and Cara were shocked when Karga shot them. His confession of his initial plan came late, but not too late.

He just had to change the plan, by no means would he bring the child when he was playing the bait. They had one Blurrg left, Kuiil and the child would be safe and after he had killed the client he would come back and they would leave Nevarro. Yes, the plan was insane, he was insane, but it didn’t matter as long as the child was safe.

It didn’t sit well with him, even though he could get out of the manacles anytime. But just the image of being led as prisoner through the streets crawling with Imps had all his muscles tensed into fight modus. He didn’t know if Karga was serious about wanting his helmet as a wall decoration, but at least he had kept the Trooper from haggling further, and as long as Karga didn’t go for his helmet he would put up with it.

Besides the imperial soldiers the town was almost empty, even the cantina was. Only the client and his four guards. Everything in him revolted when the client stalked closer, every single hair on his body rose in disgust when he ran his knuckles over his cuirass – _what_ _exquisite_ _craftsmanship_ – every fibre in his body wanted to slay the old man on the spot when his knuckles made contact with his helmet.

But all he could do so far was sit and listen to client rambling on how good the empire was. What did man know how much they as a people, as a creed had suffered under the Empire, he had probably only watched from a far and safe distance.

And then all went south. More Troopers came, the client insisted to see the child. He didn’t know how long he could take the tension anymore. When the client got distracted and went to the bar to accept a holo-call he saw his chance. The manacles came off silently and he only needed his blaster back.

He was ready, no matter that the odds did no longer favour them. He couldn’t see who the old man was talking to, but it didn’t make a difference as hell broke loose. In an instant he upturned the table, Karga and Cara pressed in next to him and all they could do in this commotion was to watch. To watch as the client went down, as the droid went down, as the Troopers went down.

And then it quiet. No one besides them was alive in the cantina anymore. They needed to move, to spread out but even when they had positioned themselves in different corners he felt like a sitting. Porg.

Six Death Troopers were lined up just outside the broken window and as if that were not enough a transporter arrived, spilling out Troopers by the dozens, pinning them down for good.

He had to contact Kuiil, he needed him to know. Everything depended on the Ugnaught now. He had to get back to the ship. He had made sure that the child was safe. He didn’t like the answer, they hadn’t arrived at the ship yet and the incoming Tie-fighter brought an even higher ranking Imp. Dressed all in black, self-assured and confident he demanded the asset, the child.

He called Kuill again and again he desperately needed to know their whereabouts, only with them safe he could act, but Kuiil didn’t answer. His desperation rose and he all but screamed into the comlink, no answer. The certainty with which the Imp in black spoke made his skin crawl.

They needed a way out, but there was none. Both door and window of the cantina were to the front, to the market place now littered with Troopers. But if they could somehow make it to the sewers and thus to his covert. They had helped him once, they would help him again. He just had to figure out a way to the sewers.

As long as the Imps were just waiting outside he had time. But then Cara detected something that would seal their fate – an E-web heavy repeating blaster. Just in time he found the connection to their way in the underground, just to find it sealed close and the deadly gun had been assembled.

The Imp maliciously commented on their attempt to get the grid off and then he dropped the bombs. He knew them, by name, by their profession! Not only Cara’s and Karga’s past were revealed, no, also his!

Hearing his full name out of the mouth of the Imp let him go cold. He felt naked, stripped, put into the open. All those years he had gone as Mando, a derogatory of his creed, just to be made known to everyone present, Cara, Karga and all the Troopers.

The E-web had become infamous, cutting down hundreds on any side. Droppers, Mandalorians, it didn’t make a difference and this was a newer version. Likely even more destructive as in _The_ _Night_ _Of_ _A_ _Thousand_ _Tears_. The siege of Mandalore, of course he had the songs, he had been taught them, to know them by heart. Learning the songs words had filled his empty heart, had given his mind to be occupied with other than the loss of his parents.

Why Karga even cared to speak to the Imp, he didn’t, but he would keep him close, very close. The guild master was not happy, they didn’t have any insurance. He would have laughed if the Imp had given them any, but he was honest enough to tell them that he couldn’t be trusted. That was what Karga got for being a turncoat. Of course did Karga want to save his hide, but he didn’t intend to wait the set ultimatum ended. And Cara had no intention of ending on a Mind Flayer either.

It had taken time, but when he realised who the Imp was everything in him went still. He could barely breathe. Remembering Moff Gideon’s made all his memories come back, all the things he tried so hard to keep at bay or at least in check.

The desperate dash through the town, the jostling in his father’s arms, the impact of the grenades, the people screaming and falling, his world erupting in blaster fire, deafened by the sounds of explosions and engines.

His father’ bruising grip on his thigh and neck, his mother’s soothing touch on his back, her panicking cry, their panting and stumbling.

The people running from the gunfire, but there was nowhere to run, the droids were everywhere, the people falling, rising, just to be mowed down by the droids. There was no escape.

Only now he understood what him stunned as a child. The cellar was only meant for him, his parent living bait to lead the droids away, their love so great, willing to sacrifice themselves so that he, their child, could live.

If he had known that they never intended to join him he wouldn’t have climbed into the cellar. He should have known, by the way his mother had hugged him, by the way she had told him that she loved him, by the way his father had told him to be quiet and stay hidden, by the way he had kissed him. But he hadn’t known, had never been separated from them, had been too scared and stunned to really comprehend.

He had climbed down and sat down, but when he had reached out to them, they were closing the shutters and he had seen his father’s eyes and the tears in them.

The explosion had woken him in a way, the heavy mechanical footfall had frozen him in a away, and when the shutters opened a huge, black, faceless machine was readying its assault. He could only close his eyes and look away. The sound of a different gun, of ricochets and the vibration of something heavy fall had made him look again.

The light had been blinding, but it was a man’s figure that blocked the sunlight this time, tall, dark and faceless, but a man nevertheless. There was a face under the helmet and the outstretched hand was beckoning him. It was without malice, looked warm and promised security and he had followed its call.

The strong arm had lifted him easily and there were more like the man that knelt down next to him. More in brown flightsuits and blue metal, more with helmets and machines that spat fire on their backs. They did what the townspeople couldn’t, they were fighting against the droids and they were killing them. They were shooting with heavy guns, they were fighting efficiently, they were flying in and landing like deadly birds.

He had seen the one coming in last, he had seen white marking on his right metallic shoulder pad, he had seen him sign to the man next to him and point up. He had known what the man with the three white signs on his right shoulder had wanted say with his small nod. He had been ready, he had nodded too. The strong hands had gripped him tightly, lifted him easily, hugged him firmly and with a few smooth steps he had being lifted.

He couldn’t see much, the smoke was everywhere. He couldn’t see anything dark red, no indication of his parents, all he see was the destruction and the light where the helmeted men fought against the droids. He had become a foundling, to be raised in the Fighting Corps.

He remembered that Moff Gideon had been an ISB Officer during the purge. In the position the Imp had had access to all kinds of information, among them also their names. Nothing had gone unseen by the ISB, and after the fall of Mandalore even the hidden data, such as the names of the _Mando’ade_ , had been known to the Empire.

His reasoning was following pure logic, although he didn’t know why Kuiil hadn’t answered. But the only way why they weren’t dead, was that the Imp didn’t have the child yet, thus they still had a chance, he guessed.

Again he tried to hail Kuiil, again there was nothing, then a squeaking, an excited trill – the child – his heart jumped and he didn’t if in joy or fear. But when he heard IG-11 his anger rose in an instant. He should have never trusted the droid, Kuill shouldn’t have trusted it.

Incredulously he stared at the comlink, as if the device could decipher the droid’s words – _to nurse and protect_ – what did it mean, what had it done?!

Cara heard it first, she was closest to the burst window. She saw first, when the Troopers started to divert their attention. Something was going on. There were shots and explosions, distant first, drawing closer fast. And then he saw it.

The speeder smashed into the stunned Troopers, IG-11 shooting into the thicket of white armours, picking them one by one. He had to get out of the cantina, he had to get to the child.

When Cara started shooting he threw the door open, Karga hot on his heels. He shot the one closest, kicked the one coming for him, shot the next. Every movement was calculated, energy-saving, precise, cold-blooded. The Death Trooper hardly a greater obstacle than the Stormtroopers. The shot at him and he grunted as his armour deflected the bolts, they threw him down, but he came up again kicking and shooting.

IG-11 tried to make its way over to them, but the Troopers started to organise their chaos and for once they even hit their target, when the droid hit the ground he knew he had to do something – the E-web. Where three Troopers had been needed to carry the heavy blaster is anger and desperation was enough to lift the gun off its stand.

Mechanically, in a slow sweep he let the gun rattle its rounds into the white armours, its dull sound accompanied by the lighter sounds of the gun Cara was holding. More and more Troopers went down. If they could keep this up, they would have a chance.

But then he heard an explosion, he whipped around, but all he could do was keeping anyone from getting closer. He didn’t know how the others were faring, only vaguely he heard Cara’s gun rattle again.

He felt the impact of the bolt, it made him lose his stand and his grip on the E-web for a second. Only his pauldron had been hit, but his already tired arm felt numbed. He turned to the new threat, Gideon had come back.

It gave him new strength as he heaved the gun around, this was the man he had to take out. The Imp was still aiming at him, he had to speed up. But the world lit up in a fireball. The felt the heat of the wave of fire steal his breath, even behind the security of his helmet. Everything lit up in oranges, reds and pain. Everything was dipping towards blacks when the shock wave ripped the ground from under his feet. The impact he didn’t feel anymore.

The pain came back, dimly at first as he struggled his way to consciousness back. He was no longer in the market square, there was no shooting anymore, there were voices, he was not alone. It was Karga and the droid, but they were far off to the loud ringing in his ears. Closer by was Cara and when he opened his eyes he could see her worrying face.

His whole body ached, but worst was the grinding feeling under his helmet. Sticky warmth seeped into the fabric on his neck, he knew he wasn’t going to make it. He needed Cara to understand that it was up to her to keep the child safe.

His vision was wavering in and out, but he clearly saw the realization dawn in her eyes, the concern when her hand came away bloody from where she had cradled his neck. Her reaction was logical and he had to muster all his strength to reach up and catch her hands. But clasping his hands over hers was enough to stop her from pulling off his helmet.

Every breath tore through him like fire, but desperation drew the words from him. She had to leave him, she had to make sure that the child was safe. The covert, she had to find the Mandalorian covert. The leather strap ripped easily, adding to the pain already searing along the base of his skull into his neck. With the small Beskar pendant they would believe her that he sent her.

He would have smiled at her hopefulness of making it. Hadn’t she heard that he was barely able to bring out what he had to say, hadn’t she heard his pained gasps for breath? Another flash of agony tore through him when she tried to make him move. Weakly he grabbed her forearms to make her stop.

His vision flared and the room of the cantina burst into flames. His visor was covered in darkness as the crook of her neck pressed into him, her body weighted him down. In other circumstances he would have been flustered or flattered, but here and then it only added to his pain.

The new threat meant their time was running out, there was still one thing he could do. He could still buy them time for their escape as long as he breathed he could fight to hold the Imps back. He was a Mandalorian, a warrior, he would die fighting.

Another sort of pain crept into him when he saw the desolation in Cara’s eyes, but this was the way of the Mandalorians – strength, loyalty, honour, death. The pain spread as realization found its way into Cara’s eyes, but their time was too short, another wall of fire found its way into the cantina and again her body shielded him from the searing heat, grabbed his hand in support.

Behind the yellow and orange wall he could make out the white and red duraplast uniform, the whirling yellow cloud came nearer, a straight line of devastation. The heat radiated around them and a single thought raced through his clouding mind – _the_ _child_ – it was sitting between him and the flames.

Pain and agony ripped through as he lifted his head to face the flames and the death they would bring. But they didn’t come closer, they didn’t engulf them. With both its hands raised, the child held the destruction at bay – _like_ _the_ _Mudhorn_ – and a flick of its tiny claw threw death back, the Imp died in an explosion.

The last strength he had mustered left him and the shock wave sent him back again the surface he was lying on. Everything went black before his eyes again until a loud clash of metal pulled him back. Their way was free, they had to go.

He couldn’t breathe, every word spoken in agony, each could be his last. The weight lifted from him when Cara let go of his hand and took the small bundle which would have been his foundling. But she didn’t give up completely, she made IG-11 promise to bring him. Vaguely he heard their exchange and he didn’t where she took the confidence from. Hadn’t he made clear that he wouldn’t last, wouldn’t leave this place alive?

With each shaking breath he felt death coming closer. His mind clogged up more and more and it was painful to turn his head the few inches to watch them disappear into the underground system. The pain came in spasms with wheezing breath he tried to draw, each made the muscles in his abdomen flutter.

He was left alone with droid, he didn’t why it had stayed, but he could use it, for one last task. Dying at its hands seemed preferable to being at the Imps’ mercy. Too long he had already endured the pain, too uncertain it was what the Imps would do. He wanted the droid to end his life.

IGs were hunters, they were killers. It was so hard for him to understand what Kuiil’s reprogramming meant. It was a cruel joke of fate that when he needed a droid to kill that it rejected the request. But what he understood was the words and the soft pressure at the lid of his helmet.

Twice within the hour they had tried to remove his helmet to save his life. He aim at this short distance was surprisingly sure, his gun didn’t waver. The rules were clear, it was forbidden. Once he had proudly answered the Armourer that his helmet had never been removed. He wouldn’t start now while he was drawing his last breaths. Desperation laced his threat.

No living thing had seen his face for over two decades, no living thing would see his face as long as he lived. The weight of realisation struck him hard, confined behind the T-visor, the world would only see him after he had gone marching on.

His aim wavered at the droid’s statement. It referred to itself as _I_ , it also knew that it was _not a_ _living_ _thing_. Heavily the dark cloud fogged his mind, he sluggishly tried to make sense and comprehend the words, sharp sounded the click and hiss of his helmet’s seal, cooling, despite the fire raging still in the cantina, was the air that brushed his face as his mask was slowly lifted. He didn’t know why he didn’t stop IG, he was only able to stare up at the metal frame with baited breath.

The tension let him forget the pain raging within him as he gazed unimpeded at the droid. The former hunter tended to him, used Bacta spray on him to heal his head wound. The full healing process would take some hours, but the cooling effect was immediately to be felt.

He lowered his gun as felt the tingling sensation, concentration on the area where the excruciating pain slowly dwindled. It took him some moments to understand the joke the droid tried to make – _central processing unit_ – as if he were a machine like it.

Only the still lingering pain stifled his chuckle to a short snort. He couldn’t believe it, the droid was actually funny, somewhat at least. He tried to shake off the rising feeling that made him gasp softly. The simple and mechanically efficient actions of Kuiil’s droid were reaching something deep down in him, something like trust and maybe a sentiment akin to affection.

The droid didn’t give him much time, he didn’t give himself the time to heal, because it was something they didn’t have. When immediate blackness and bile forcing its way up his throat as soon as he moved subsided, he pushed himself up. But only with IG’s he managed to keep standing. His world tumbled with each halting step, but IG kept guiding him.

When the droid fixed one of his detonators to the opening they had come through he managed a few unsteady steps while clinging on to the wall. Again he staggered at the detonation’s impact and would have fallen hadn’t it been for the prop the droid had given him.

The Bacta was doing its job, he was feeling not at death’s door anymore, but it was working slowly and each swaying step made him nauseous, the wobbling ray of light from his helmet torch only added to the sensation.

Putting one foot in front of the other he would have walked straight on, but IG made him round the corner. Tiredly he closed his eyes and led his head bob, the droid’s firm held him upright. He blinked and saw feet, then legs approaching in the perimeter of the light. Cara with the child in her arms, relief at seeing him written all over her face. Her eyes fell on the bloody fabric of his neck scarf, though healing the wound continues to ooze and his blood dyed the cloth ghastly in the bright light.

Her gaze into his visor was intense, she looked directly into his eyes. And though she was quick to hand over the child he almost fell into her arm. Her embrace was as strong as the droid’s, only softer and warmer.

Along her side he limped on. One tunnel looked like the other, the sewer system expanded beneath the whole town and even further. He didn’t know where they were, his way underground had always been the same. In from and out to the bazaar and within he only knew the few ways to the forge, his quarters, the training room, kitchen and fresher area well enough.

He didn’t know if it was normal that they only encountered quiet and empty hallways. Where were the _Mando’ade_? He needed them as an escort to his ship. And the longer they needed, the more likely the Imps would catch up. The rising level of pain told him that he was pushing himself too hard, but he just had to push and no time for qualms about his healing process. That could wait until they had reached the ship.

Cara seemed to notice and went slower. Her frustration at the underground’s maze grew with every corner they rounded. He needed a minute to orientate and, though slightly unstable, he managed to stand without help. If he could find tracks he could find the location of the other warriors.

Faintly, but unquestionably there were tracks. Leading back to where they had come and round another corner and then he saw the spiralling staircase, he knew where they were and where he had to go. He stepped, determination leading his steps and stopped dead in his tracks. All physical pain was forgotten, a new pain settled in his bones at the sight he had to behold.

Helmets, cuirasses, gauntlet, pauldrons, cuisses. On a heap and strewn about. The cracked visor of a helmet like his stared accusingly back in the focused light of his torch. The _Mando’ade_ – gone. He knelt heavy and picked it up. Who had it belonged to? He tried to remember. Suddenly nothing seemed right anymore, nothing was important anymore. He couldn’t leave the sacred armour behind, he had to care for it.

He gazed hard at the helmet when a thought spread and clutched hard at his heard. His anger and hate seeped into his voice. No vocoder could eliminate the emotions that flooded him at the thought that Karga and his bounty hunters had something to do with the elimination of his tribe.

Karga disavowed any responsibility and the man’s denial only made him angrier. His finger punched the older man in the chest and only a modulated, well-known voice kept him from a further assault. The Armourer, she was still there. And with each of her words revealing the covert’s fate he felt more and more desolate. It was his fault, he and his actions had forced his brothers and sisters to reveal themselves.

He didn’t dare to ask, he had to know if anyone survived the carnage. And at her answer he was unsure whether he could feel a spark of hope that some might have made it off-world. His instinct told him to ask her to come with them. But he should have known her answer. With the Imps thinking that the sewers were cleared from their tribe she would salvage the empty armour.

When she had finished loading the hover-cart she walked off without another word and he followed her to the forge. There she wanted to see the reason for their demise, the child. Her voice was even, she didn’t give him any indication of what she knew. He had mentioned the child in his last visit only briefly, but she was quick to put the loose ends together.

He was startled when she let on that she had heard of powers such as the child had. Even though it might have only been in their old songs, he knew them to tell stories of the Mandalorian past, he knew the songs to be a part of their oral tradition, he knew of Mandalore the Great who had lived over 1500 years ago.

As the Armourer talked about it the words come slowly back to him and the thought that he had lost everything to the protection of an enemy seemed to drain all the remaining blood from him. Befuddled he registered the slight amusement in the Armourer’s voice – _a foundling_ – she used the very word with which he had sent Cara to the covert. A foundling to be in his care, not too train it, for obvious reasons, bit to find its people. His voice almost faltered and his heart beat faster when the realised that the Armourer sent him on a wild Thranta chase through the galaxy, but this was the way.

It was soothing in a way to watch the Armourer work so calmly and a piece of Beskar, the sound of her hammer resounding in the forge, but it made Cara antsy and he had to agree with her. The Imps were still hot on their heels. He didn’t wonder the Armourer knew the way to the tunnels, Karga and Cara could manage their way out of the sewer system. He wouldn’t run, he couldn’t, not yet. Even standing still in the forge had his toll on him, no matter how relaxing it was after the fighting and their walk through the tunnels. The aching was still there, as well as the unsteadying feeling of his wavering vision and the ringing in his ears which worsened the ache in his head. But the Armourer sent him on and with the Creed’s words of old she made him the child’s _buir_.

At the little creature’s coo he looked at it and wondered if it understood more than it let on. Deep was in his thoughts when words reached his ears which made him straighten his posture. The honour of a signet, the Armourer had been right back then, it hadn’t taken a too long time for it to become revealed. And he kept very still when she attached the Mudhorn symbol to his pauldron.

He angled his helmet best as he could to catch a glimpse of the new addition to his armour and his thanks were deeply felt. He would have had said more, asked more, but an explosion announced the end of their time with the Armourer, the last surviving member of his tribe he knew of so far.

While he watch IG to deal with the scouting party she surprised him with one more gift, something he had dreamed of ever since he had sworn the Creed, something that made him achingly remember the heavy infantry’s last salute, a Beskar jet-pack to complete his armour. Her words were insistent, unless trained with properly, this device could be fatal.

He couldn’t sway her decision, she wouldn’t leave. She would buy them time and continue to salvage the armour. Restocking his ammunition he followed the others. Cara was carrying his foundling, IG the jet-pack. He didn’t know if he would see her ever again, but he now had a foundling in his care – this was the way.

It didn’t take them long to reach the lava river, they just had to follow tunnel leading down. The droid was fried and the boat, old as it was, was their only chance. All the pushing was useless until Cara solved the problem in her old style. They were about to relax when the droid started to come to life again and had them on edge for a moment again.

Seeing the light at the end of the tunnel had Karga elated, but he didn’t trust neither the peace nor the Imps and a scan proved him right. There were too many for them to take out. They couldn’t go anywhere. The droid hadn’t stopped and even after Cara had shot it, they were still floating closer towards the mouth of the tunnel.

IG’s finality in his decision to take out the Troopers so that they could escape had been brushed away by him, none of them had the firepower to take out a whole platoon. He didn’t even think twice when he added _pal_ to address IG, it just felt right.

But he was thinking in the wrong lines, that wasn’t IG’s objective. Slowly it dawned on him as IG laid it out for him – _surrounded_ _by_ _enemies_ , _protocol_ _dictates I_ _cannot_ _be_ _captured_ , _self_ - _destruction_ _initiated_ – and when he put down the jet-pack it had carried for him and put the satchel with the child into his arms he pulled his last trump card, to no avail.

He didn’t know whether it only sounded desperate and sad to his ears as IG pleaded him to keep the child safe. Maybe he was only projecting his own feelings onto the droid. Even with the vocoder’s distortion he was not able to hide his own feelings and when IG confronted him with them his throat clenched up.

Silently he watched IG step off the boat and walk toward its, _no_ _his_ , demise. The burning sting in his eyes did not come from the acid gases, the tight feeling in his chest did not come from the impending threat or the confinement of the tunnel – he was losing a friend in IG, and along with him, he was losing Kuiil once again – another friend gone.

He watched him go, walk towards the end of the tunnel. He watched stand, surrounded by Troopers. He watched until the cloud of fire lit the tunnel. His plan had worked, he could see the devastation, but at what prize.

Yet they had no time to even register this small victory as the foreboding sound of a Tie-fighter at full speed cut through the silence. Gideon had awaited the outcome and with his troops gone he had decided to step in himself. The firepower of the small ship was by far greater than their own, he wouldn’t miss the next time, but he knew what to do.

His last lessons in _Rising Phoenix_ were long a long time ago. It would be dangerous without the proper preparation and the Bacta had not healed him fully, but it was their only chance. He had to bring the fight to Gideon.

He felt it when he lifted his arms, he felt the added weight, his body was protesting and he pushed the thought that it would be even more protesting away. To keep the last people he trusted and the child safe he would do what he had to, even if it meant to follow IG’s example.

He imitated the jet pack has Gideon came for them in a straight line. Seconds before the Imp passed him the boost took him high up, above the Tie-fighter. His aim was true, the hook of the grapple line gripped and then grew taunt in an instant. The agony in his shoulder was jarring as he was ripped along and he let go of a cry pain.

He needed some time to gather himself, all the while a flaying tail to the small ship, but the next boost of his jet-pack launched to the one-person-cockpit. It was stupid, but he followed his first instinct and shot at the window.

But Gideon made the ship tumble and he lost his footing along with his blaster. He was barely able to hold on to the ship’s wings until the Moff stabilised the fighter again. He needed to bring out his big guns. The first detonator fell off his hand and exploded harmlessly in the air as he was forced to cling to the ship with his torn shoulder. But it only steeled his determination to make the second work.

The locking mechanism clicked, the timer beeped and with a boost from the jet-pack he let himself fall away from the ship. He watched it explode while desperately and with flaying arms he tried to right himself in the air. Only that way he could use the pack to break his fall. The ground came rapidly nearer. There, he managed to turn, with his feet pointing down he started the boost counteracting gravity. The landing was clumsy, stiff and jarred his knees, but he landed standing and let go of the breath he didn’t knew he had held in a sigh of relief.

To see Karga and Cara who was still holding the child were safe, too, left only the one worry if there were any Stormtroopers left. But Cara’s answer was not what he had expected or hoped for. Nor could he compete with Karga’s smooth talking. His attention to their banter was quickly distracted by the child.

He felt the small pressure against his calf and when he looked, the child had embraced his led with what seemed to be a content smile and a soft trill. To lift him up when its raised little arms demanded so seemed all of a sudden to be the most natural thing to do. To care for the child, _no, his foundling_ , was a more pressing matter than to accept Karga’s offer to return to the guild.

With the thought that he would take care of his foundling he step away from them and with a few wide steps the boost of the jet-pack had him airborne. His gut told him that Karga could be right in his assumption that the little one would also take care of him. It was not a good feeling as he carried the child towards the Crest. But he remembered three decades ago he had been carried to safety just like that. He only hoped that a better fate awaited the child.

Yet before they could leave Nevarro to seek the people of the child he had to complete a last and sad task. He found Kuiil so close to his ship that he cursed his own desperation of wanting to know him safe. Had he kept quiet just a few more minutes, everything would have turned out differently. Kuiil would have been safe in the Crest and not buried under Nevarro’s black lava stone. IG-11 could have navigated and lay torn to pieces and melting in Nevarro’s lava river. He … he closed his eyes at the thought, he wouldn’t have a foundling, he would lie in the market place or the cantina.

His hands worked swiftly over the controls to initiate the starting sequence when a soft sucking noise made him turn back to his foundling. He hadn’t seen Cara giving the Beskar pendant back to the child, but as his foundling, it was by rights his now.

-*-*-*-

Only when she stood in the small room in Karrde’s home she felt the tension of the past week lessen.

Thinking back it seemed like a dream. The hunt, father getting wounded, Tern’s attempt of self-sacrifice, her the acquaintance of Evan, the Force-user, his teachings, the burning of the armours of her friends and her lover.

Everything had seemed so unreal. Her worries about her father’s well-being, the worries about learning about her notions, the worries of being bared to Evan’s proddings and pryings, the constant feeling of having a shield around them while they prepared the stack of woods until they left.

Everything had kept her constantly on edge. The way how she was able to react to Evans prompts, the way she could reach out to her father, the way her skin prickled as soon as she felt either of them reaching out to her, the way how Tern felt when she brushed against his existence in the Force or his body.

Everything had seemed to fall into place, slowly and bit by bit. Her experience in the cantina on that small icy planet and her other notions, the way back to Dargak and the incident in the temple on Ossus, the Elder of Jormark, the way how Tern had come into her life, her capability to learn from Evan.

No matter how much the exercises had worn her out, she had pushed herself to the limit. Once she had learnt to focus in the right way, she used every apt moment to hone her new skills. During the week of training with Evan and even with her father, one of her favourite exercises had been trying to reach out to them, locate their position or to hide her presence to them.

Her least favourite time had been when Evan had tried in vain to explain and teach her telekinesis. Even the smallest pebble she had tried to lift had just kept laying in its initial place, or, as if to mock her, had just given a quiver. Throwing the small stones by hand in a fit of frustration had just earned her a chuckle from her father and a reprimand from Evan. She had been ready to give upon it when her father had stepped up to her.

“Here, take the axe. Now concentrate on the target.”

“You know that I can’t do it!” She was angry and frustrated and above all tired.

But Dargak had been unrelenting. When she had finally taken the axe, he had placed both hands on her shoulders and it was not the only sensation that had surrounded her, his whole existence crowded her.

“Breathe. Concentrate. See your target and reach out to it. You can’t move things with the Force, but you can use it to make your aim true.” He was so confident in what he said that she just had to believe him.

She had followed his instructions. Wielding an axe in close combat was something she was used to, at throwing she had never excelled. She concentrated – the axe, the aim, the way the axe should take to the target – it was one, the aim, the axe, the target. With a flick of her wrist she let go of the axe.

“Is that how you have always made sure you hit your targets?” She was astonished, more, awed.

And when he had answered with a guilty chuckle she had only one word for him: “Rascal!”

Evan had shared his knowledge and shown her many exercises and each night she fell more than tired onto the gathered blankets and passed out next to Tern. She had cherished their closeness, his warmth and the safety his embrace had come to mean to her.

After the first night it had become his habit to be already lying on his side, propped up on an elbow when she had let herself fall onto the blankets. He had listened when she had tried to tell him about what had tired her out during the day and he had either held her hand when she was lying on her side facing him or he had placed his hand on her stomach when she was lying on her back. 

And it had become her routine to turn her back to him and curl up as a sign to resign to sleep, to only fall really asleep when she felt his body curl around her, providing her with his shelter of warmth.

On what became their last day of their training Evan had seemed to be distracted, otherwise it was not to explain why she had managed to push past his defences. They had sparred, with staffs, long and short ones and he had wanted her to repeat what she had done with the axe.

More than once she had made him grunt in pain when he was not able to divert the oncoming piece of wood. More than once she had him in a lock where only his strength helped him to keep her at bay. Until she continued the push with the Force and he went flying back.

He had taken his time to get up, he had watched her intently and when he had come back to a stand he had mumbled something about _raw_ before he had encouraged her to try it again in a more controlled way.

That day they had finished much earlier than the days before. After having shared a meal at midday he had told them that they had to leave. The Imps were after him and they were coming soon.

While they had readied their departure, her father had another sort of news which had kept her preoccupied for the rest of the time. He hadn’t forgotten about his demand, he had brought the armours and he had demanded to know the coordinates.

Her mind had been already in the small valley with the brook when they had taken their leave from Evan. She hadn’t been able to sway Dargak’s decision. She hadn’t been able to convince him to let her keep the armours, he had been unmovable about it and at some point of their argument she had felt like an _ad_ again, patronised and powerless.

She had known she was behaving like one when she had sulkily kept on her helmet and remained quiet throughout the whole trip. On their arrival Dargak had given her one of the containers and she had known what it contained without having to look inside. Her hands were trembling as she held the container with Denx’s armour.

It had not been the first time that she had transported it this way. With it in her hands every step had seemed to be more difficult than the one before. With each step her vision got more and more blurry. All her thoughts just revolved about having to part finally, to give up on what she had held dear for the last decade.

 _“Found a really nice place, a place to grow old at.”_ A place for him to rest eternally.

Each step had drawn her nearer to where once a home was to be built and where a pyre had been erected instead.

 _“You will love it, especially the little brook.”_ A place to light his pyre.

On seeing the site again after all those years she had stopped. Everything in her had stopped.

 _“We can go hunting or simply hiking, … or we do_ other _things.”_ A place to part ways.

Stiffly she had set the container down and stared at the hollowed-out area. A few small bushes had grown over the years and insects had buzzed around colourful flowers where soon once again a pyre would burn. Where now life was, soon destruction would scorch the earth again.

 _“Once we get the job done we can be on our way. The planet is not large and we would be much closer to Mandalore.”_ He would be close to Mandalore forever.

She hadn’t been of much help. Gathering some of the needed wood and then simply standing there and gazing into the past. Each piece of wood they had added to the pile had her still even more until her breath seemed to come with the reverently placed branches. She couldn’t even lend a hand when her father and Tern had brought the boxes to the pile of wood, and when it had come to placing the pieces of armour onto it.

He had been gone for such a long time and she had gone with him, with everything but her life. It had been their life, had always been their life. The life of warriors was often short and often one half was left behind. The half which was still compelled to live true to the _Resol’nare_ , to survive. Life always meant death, not only for Mando’ade and Denx had died as he had lived, as a warrior.

When the time had come she had stepped up to the pyre. Her mind was blank, but the strong hands on der shoulder helped her to stay grounded, her father’s hands and his presence which he had wrapped around her like a soothing blanket.

She couldn’t have done it without him. He had let her have the initiative without pressing her. He had given her the time she needed, but it had been his physical presence and the soft tendrils that had woven a shelter around her that had had her finally ignite the pyre with her flamethrower.

When Dargak had assister her even in this last task it was like relief and wistfulness where fighting within her for the upper hand. But when also Tern had stretched his arm out next to hers, it had been the flames of three that set the wood aflame. It had been the flames of three that had the fire roaring.

 _“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_. _Denx_.“

If it hadn’t been for her father she would have kept standing in the waves of blaze, like back then. Like a decade ago when the heat of the flames had burnt her skin. But he had pulled her back step after step until she hadn’t felt the ground under her feet anymore.

She had held on to herself, clutching her knees in the tight embrace of her arms. She had rocked herself into a state of trance. From it only the low voice of her father had been able to pull her. It had pulled her from the past.

“ _Motir ca'tra nau tracinya._ _Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a._ _Cuun hett su_...”

She hadn’t sung the death chant back then, she hadn’t had any voice for it. But his voice’s vibrations resonated in her and set her at peace. His voice’s sombre timbre broke the dams and her tears just fell without a sound. They calmed the blaze raging within her.

 _“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_. _Jurann. Mayh. Denx_.“

She still had found no voice, only her body had spoken as the fire within her was drenched. Only a short cool breeze had brushed past her back before it had been replaced by gentle warmth. Green-blue greaves had taken their guard at her sides and the colourful vambraces had covered her arms.

As in the nights before she had sunk back into the dependability his chest provided. He had been the shelter around her and only in his sanctuary she had allowed the sobs to take over. To his steady presence she had felt the blanketing cover her father had provided all around them.

Only when the last tendrils of smoke had dissolved into nothingness she had known that it was over, they had gone marching on and she had felt the calmness she had missed such a long time settle deep within her and with it a sense of relief had come.

 _Val nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la_. She would be also marching, but on solid ground and she wouldn’t be alone. She would be marching freely and she wouldn’t feel abandoned anymore.

Again on the shuttle as she had sought his closeness and she had chuckled over his nervous presence. He was no longer a blank canvass to her, she had realized, his presence in the Force was as colourful as the painting of his armour. He could hide his face under the helmet and with it any facial expressions but he couldn’t hide all his emotions which radiated from him. They stood out to her like a beacon in the night.

Compared to Tern, her father radiated even more, normally. He had explained that it was due to the training he had received in his past, but as she had watched him steer the shuttle she had become aware of the dullness of his colours caused by his fatigue and she had blamed the constant blanketed feeling of safety, he had shielded them with his Force all the time.

She had taken in the gathered people who slowly had grown silent and turned in their direction. She had heard one or the other agitated whisper – _Mandalorians_ – and smiled ruefully. It had been much easier to go more or less unnoticed when she had been on her own. Sure, people had turned at her dark cloaked appearance, but she had never drawn that much attention.

She had looked at Tern who had shifted uncomfortably next to her, not used to it either.

“Never been to such a big place with that many people.” He had indulged her on the private com.

“Gar beroya!” She had been astonished at his admission. As a hunter he sure must have met more people on his job.

“Dja … the other hunter did the talking. I just … he was more experienced.” He had shifted is weight again.

“And when you hunted alone?” She had been curious and he seemed to be in a mood to talk about his past. With their conversation private it had been easy to continue and still follow Karrde and her father to the private room.

He had shrugged: “Took the job, did it and brought back the bounty and the fob. Not much talking needed.”

“You still drew attention.”

He had sniggered softly: “That’s why I always did the pick-up and the delivery either early in the mornings or late at night. And Nevarro was never as crowed as this place.”

Their talking had been interrupted by Dargak who had also used their com to ask their opinion about a further employment and chuckled at their quick answer. Of course she hadn’t wanted to stay longer than needed, not with Imps paying this planet a visit soon.

Yet, there was this invitation to be considered and if the ground floor was of any indication they could hope for some luxury when it came to their rooms, too. After all it would grant them a few hours of privacy. Besides, Karrde had been right, some time in a fresher would do them all good.

The meal had been rich, flavourful enough and after their week on rations and dry bread she watched with a knowing smile as Dargak dug into the meat. In vain she had tried to hide her amusement when he left all the sides aside and just concentrated on the different dishes of meat.

She had to explain to Tern. Though sharing their meals, their turned backs hadn’t let him participate in the comic of the situation.

“So only carnivore? But I’ve seen you eat the rations and other stuff.” He had been genuinely puzzled and she had kept snorting at Dargak’s expense.

“Preferably meat. Though can’t be helped sometimes, then it’s for the sake of nutrition.” Her farther had grudgingly clarified.

Nevertheless Tern had missed their shared mealtimes. Even on the ship he had been closer and able to join the conversations in the lounge area than in the temple where he had retreated to some far off corner.

Something that had her preoccupied had been Tern’s words – _You only understand what you had when you no longer have it_ – she had felt the impact of his contemplation, its truth. She had taken the crew of the Keldab for granted, a mistake she would not make again. Instead on reflecting what she had lost in the past the reflected on what she would lose now. What she would lose if there were no Dargak anymore. How much she would lose if there were no Tern anymore.

It filled her with dread and she admitted finally that she had already wasted too much time. Not the same mistake, not again. Both were a present of the gods, the Force or whatever and she would accept it openly and fully.

There had been a cloud of strong aftershave that drew closer. It had made her turn to see Karrde. She had not only snorted at his remark, but also to get the stench out of her nostrils. The aftershave had been too sweet, too obtrusive, all in all too much. For a moment she had regretted not having worn her helmet.

It would have saved her from the unpleasant smell and she wouldn’t have had to keep her facial expressions under control. Thus the only thing to do had been to inhale through her mouth and snort through her nose – not too audible and not to obvious – as an exhale, to avert her head to get a less stanching air, to grit her teeth and set her face into an unreadable mask.

When she had been pulled off to a quiet lounge area by Karrde she gave him as little information as she could. Anything but short and curt answers would have resulted in smelling more of him, something she couldn’t do unless she wanted to get sick to the stomach, and the food had been too tasty to give up on it in such a repelling way.

Additionally, keeping up a dry report style had become actually a game, he had wanted an entertainment which she hadn’t been willing to give. To see him sulk more and more in his disappointment had made her smile more sardonic. Obviously he was beyond caring or just simply bad at reading facial expressions.

And then he had made his next mistake. She had known why he had waved over the droids with one drink after the next. First she had wanted to decline, but when she had seen both her father’s watchful eyes and Tern’s unwavering visor trailed in her direction, she had known that it wouldn’t get out of hand.

In the end she had found it amusing – maybe because of the alcohol loosening her also – how the man ended up getting more and more drunk and his movements more and more sloppy and awkward. He probably hadn’t eaten as well as she had.

The only disadvantage of his movements getting uncoordinated had been that it had got more difficult to get his hands under control. Once he had found that he couldn’t wrap his arm around her shoulder, he redirected his attention to her legs, patting her thigh just above the knee was only the start. More than once she had to swat his steadily upwards groping hand away.

She had felt anger rise in her and it had made her cheeks flush. He was their host, she had expected a better behaviour. He was their host and she had to keep herself under control. She had gone through the options she had and then her eyes met her father’s.

On instinct she reached out and made herself know to where she could feel him with the Force. She hadn’t been sure if he got her message when she tenderly tugged at his borders. The more she had been relieved when he had given her a nod and approached the booth she was seated in. She had tried to make her retreat believable and the disappointed look of Karrde had her gloat with a small feeling of victory.

In her room she had sat on the bed and with a shake of her head she finished her reminiscence of the past events. The only task she had given herself for the next hours was a long time in the fresher and even longer time in the soft bed.

She eyed the many large pillows arranged on it and started throwing out several ones, rearranging those she wanted to keep in bed. After she had shed her armour and underlayers and placed them on a pile next to the bed, she slipped into the provided bathrobe and crossed the corridor for the fresher.

She was stunned by the huge tub, a mirror with lights and the shower which felt like a room in a room. A thin damp mist hung in the air and clouded the mirror, condensation was forming and running down and she went over to swipe it off to get a glimpse of her reflection. But the artificial light was reflected by something small, an unfamiliar shaving set. Her lips tug upwards and she slipped out of the bathrobe and her underwear.

She liked how the hot water hit her body, how the hard jets massaged the strain from her muscles, and she let go of a moan. Being alone she let herself relish the sensations in any form, vocally and physically as she stretched and twisted her body with little sounds when the hot jets worked on her sorest spots.

The room was fogging up when she started lathering her hair, massaging her scalp. She had felt the different quality of the water already on her skin. It was soft, which was nice, but it also made rinsing more difficult. She parted the lengths of her hair so that the water could slosh through them, her long strands slapped against her back and when she ran her fingers through her hair she decided to repeat the procedure.

Done she reached up and angled the shower head differently. She had wrung her hair into a knot and it could start drying as she took the bar of soap again and lathered her body methodically. She didn’t have a cloth, so her hands had to do. Again she rubbed intensely to get the soap off her skin again.

When feeling clean she ran her fingers through her hair and with a jerk she through her mane over her head, rubbing with the towel at the dripping lengths. While brushing the cloth along her arms she rounded the tiled corners. As soon as she reached dry ground she could dry her feet.

Drying her left leg she stepped further onto the dry ground, another step and she could concentrate on wrapping the towel around her wet hair. She could feel single droplets running along her skin, but the soft bed would take care of them.

She tilted her head back and was about to adjust the wrapping so that the towel would stay in place when she saw him. Her breathing stilled and the towel slid through her suddenly numb fingers from her head.

A green-blue helmet, it sank to his chest, his bare, well-muscled chest, it heaved with his inhales. A bare chest with a slightly darker T, the chest hair she had felt had just the right amount. The pectorals twitched, his muscles tensed.

The muscled arms, the V clearly separating deltoid, triceps and biceps, muscles in his forearms rippling with his clenching and unclenching fists, abdominal muscles coiling and uncoiling with the way he fidgeted and panted.

Her eyes glid over his body as she still tried to comprehend why he was there, wondering how long he had been there. When her eyes roved lower to his briefs she knew that he must have been standing there for some time. They were dented explicitly and a wet spot discoloured them.

She felt a heat rise in her neck, she felt a tight knot roll in her loins, her lips felt all of a sudden very dry. Her mind was racing. Had he watched her, or why else would he be that aroused. But she hadn’t seen anything, not a single slow or rash movement. There had been no wet footsteps leading from the shower to where he was standing.

He simply kept standing there with his lowered helmet, but she could hear his laboured pants. She had caught him and he was simply standing and waiting. He hadn’t fled, he hadn’t tried to find excuses and he hadn’t covered his excitement. What was he waiting for?

Even when she drew nearer he didn’t react. Her eyes wandered over his body again and she knew what she wanted. A smile spread over her face, his briefs showed he wanted the same. And she reached out to touch his neck.

He almost jumped under her hand, but he didn’t look up, and then she found his racing heartbeat under her fingers, a frantic gallop struggled against her fingertips. Only slowly his helmet started to lift. Her own pulse spiked as his seemed to become even faster, but his groan was not one of pain, not of a physical pain at least.

She knew what he had seen when he threw his head back and started at the ceiling. With a grin she raked her teeth over her bottom lip at his bashful demeanour, at the tremble that spread through his tense body. A body she wanted to caress and feel on hers.

She did not make any sound as reduced the distance between them to nothing and breathed his scent in with long steady breaths. It made him stutter and his gasp was delicious in her ears when she lapped over his chest, his nipple was a hard knob against her tongue.

She felt his twitching reaction against her body, having her longing for him increase. His hands were trembling when they found support on her waist and she tensed under his fingers. She wanted to feel him, feel his trembles. She wanted to taste him and make him shake with desire. She wanted him to be sorry, sorry for having waited instead of having been braver.

She felt the pressure against her hands as he tried to look back down at her, but the sounds he made as she nibbled along his throat were too enticing to grant him his wish. Having him admit what he had done and thought of was something she could tease him with. She knew that she was being more than just slightly unfair as she revealed his likely imagery. If only he were able to see that it were also hers. Between his ragged pants, wheezes and restrained moans she was only able to coax single words from his lips.

She pulled his straining body against her and again his reaction had her heat building. Feeling his erection grind against her as he rolled his hips against her increased her wanton that he would take her there and now. She wondered what it would take for him to do exactly that. It couldn’t have been that much more with how grinded against her.

But she knew what she wanted. Although the door was looked she wanted him to feel completely safe and able to relax. And when he followed her back to the shower she felt like she had an invisible leash in her hands.

Her breath left her as his weight pressed her against the wall, but she wanted him that close, even closer. But again she had to initiate the next step, she had to press him against her, giving him only enough space to work down his briefs. She wanted to make him stutter as she retaliated with rolls of her hips.

His body was intoxicating her and his self-inflicted modesty almost drove her crazy. Until he finally got it, got that she wanted and needed him. Even then he made sure to not overstep any limits, and it was not something she wanted to hear at that moment.

He started to grope his way forward starting with her face, warm fingertips trailing over her cheeks and her lips. She leaned back and closed her eyes to better remember how his lips had felt on her, imagining it to be them instead of his hands.

She shivered under his touches and with baited breath she felt him trailing lower. She wanted to feel him everywhere on her body and his touch made her breath hitch. Each touch made her yearn for more, made her squirm, each touch intensified her own arousal.

She had seen his hardness, felt it press against her and her own excitement dampened her inner thighs. She didn’t use words to invite him to explore more and deeper, she just shifted to give him enough access.

And the sensation that exploded on her skin when he pressed against her made her moan wantonly. Her nails scratched over the tiles when she felt his hand warm against her slickness and a warmth crept up her neck, he could feel how wet she was already. He was driving her wild with his soft examinations and probing.

But she let him continue, she had asked for what he had imagined and it had her curious. She could scarcely bring his helmet into focus and his hitched explanation had her even more seduced than just the action itself. But when he started she couldn’t get enough of it.

The drag of his fingers was experimentally first, but he learnt, made her breath stutter and wrung moans from her lips until he found what made her gasp. With each stroke the coil in her tightened, her only leverage was his back. And she desperately clung to him when her gasps changed to quick pants.

Trembling she clutched him close, each wave of her orgasm sent her body jerking against him. Not until she finally regained her senses did she let go of his shoulders. The sheltering warmth of his body was a haven to her weakened frame.

Be he wasn’t done yet, she could feel him distinctively as he guided her leg round his hips, as he hoisted her up. She didn’t relish the idea of an uncomfortable session against the tiled wall, but he didn’t make a move to lift her further, to lift her onto his erection.

When he started to shuffle she could still feel his hard length against her loin. It made the heat in her core flare and at the same time it made her giggle. His awkward movements continued and made her peer around to find out what he was actually doing. And it made her laugh as she watched how he dragged his briefs with him with each step that brought him closer to the door.

She couldn’t anymore, and her laughter filled the room – _no one’s left behind_ – a warrior won’t part with his briefs as if they were a wounded comrade in battle. She had a hard to time to stifle her laughter and giggles to concentrate long enough to find out if the coast was clear.

To tease him as he desperately shifted her and his briefs brought her a fiendish glee and his moans told her of his delightful torture. It was not only his torment, she was also suffering in a wonderful way. She was coating his length with her wetness and from his reactions she knew that he felt it, too.

She pressed her mouth into the crook of his neck, stifling any sound she couldn’t suppress until they had reached the safety of her room. She doubted that her father would come to investigate, she feared that he was sitting in his room with a smug grin ever since they had retreated to their rooms.

She felt sheltered in his arms as he cradled her against his chest, and secure as he laid her down on the bed. She watched the slight tremble that ran down his muscles as he fixed his gaze on her body. It made her squirm until he started to run his hands down her body. Setting it on fire again.

But he wasn’t done there and the knot that flared within her at his words made her gasp. To feel his lips not only on hers own but all over her body, she could have guessed that this was one of the fantasies he had indulged in while in the bathroom. The fantasies of a hunter, his movements after he had switched off the lights betrayed him and it made her giggle, the giddy feeling of being his prey, it just did something to her. She wanted him to stalk her, to be his prey.

The more she melted into the kiss her silenced her with. His breath was hot on her skin as his lips followed the path his hands had mapped out already. She could feel his arousal hard and leaking against her skin. But he didn’t stop kissing his way lower. The rush of feeling open and exposed to him that had flickered in the light of his helmet blazed once again as she felt his hands latch onto her thighs and spread them wide for him.

But he turned her gasp into longing moans as he continued, his groans low rumbles as he followed his daydream. She felt the heat already pooling again in her core when he pulled away. Her whimper mourned the loss of his closeness and when he complied and touched her again he drew a throaty moan from her.

She loved what he was doing to her, but it was not enough. And when his other hand reached for himself, a shiver of anticipation ran through her with the overwhelming need to touch him herself, to feel the heat of his hardness and the readiness in his twitches and rocking.

His brow was damp as he nestled his head between her breasts. She could feel his arousal leaking and used it to coat his shaft. She felt how this made trembles run through his body. Their need to join consuming. Where he took the control from she didn’t know as he entered her and sheathed his length with antagonisingly slow thrusts.

It was a sweet torture, but she needed him to move faster. For both the fire burnt too brightly, both their bodies pleaded to be released. And when his fingers found the bundles of nerves again she only lasted a few strokes before the searing heat started to explode within her and had her pulsating on him. His thrusts staggered, his rumbled grunts turned into broken moans when he coated her inner walls.

She couldn’t have supported his weight, but he didn’t bury her beneath him, he shifted them around so that she could lie panting on his chest. If all his fantasies were intense like this she could easily live with them and was more than willing to explore them all with him.

When he loosened his tight embrace and moved she was about to complain, but the tenderness with which he took care of her made her sigh contently, especially as he scooted close again and wrapped her up in the shelter of his arms again. She smiled as she recalled that hugging and cradling her like this seemed to have become his favourite way to fall asleep over the period of the last days.

She was just about to drift off, when she heard the knock. It was soft and she thought that it was Dargak. If it were an emergency, he would say so. If it were something unimportant and she didn’t answer, he would wait until the morning.

But the knocking was repeated, still soft, yet persistent. She untangled her limbs from Tern and grabbed the blanket. On the way to the door she flung it around herself, grabbing it from the inside to keep it closed in the front.

When she opened their host was standing there, eyes hopeful. As soon as his eyes roamed down and up her appearance he grinned toothily. A blush spread on her cheeks as his tongue hungrily flicked over his lips. That the blanket slipped off her shoulders as she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze didn’t help either. The lust and demand in his eyes was easily perceivable.

His hand rose and reached out to her as his mouth opened. But nothing came out, not a single syllable. And suddenly she became aware of something shoving into her vision. A muzzle, a barrel, the fist grabbing the pistol grip, a muscular forearm. Karrde’s eyes widened in shock with the gun stopping few inches in front of his face. His eyes were almost crossing to take it in, the his gaze fell just to be risen quickly again.

“ … She. Is. Taken.” Tern’s words were slow, low and menacing, more growled than spoken and they sent a shiver through her. Technically he was right, he had just taken her. Still, him claiming her openly – and she was sure he would do so in an overcrowded room now too – had her legs weaken. He had never rushed and just taken and claimed her, he had waited until she had allowed him to take her, given her the time to get not only used to him, but to the new overall situation, given her the time to come to terms with herself. All this made his claim more precious to her.

After the door had slammed shut they stood in the darkness. Tern’s breathing became more settled and only when she heard the retreating steps she started to move, to reach out to him. She did want to feel him and to see him, but she gave him a warning before she switched on the lights.

Now that she could see she took in Tern’s whole appearance and her mouth started to twitch. He had lowered her blaster, this hand hang limp at his side. But his other hand was busy clinging to her cuirass with his knuckles turned white. Besides his helmet it was the only thing that covered his naked body.

No matter how much she tried, her twitching lips turned into a leer as her eyebrow shot up for a brief instant.

“Taken? Hu?” It was her turn to be the hunter. One word, one step.

“Taken you say.” She edged him back step by step. His helmet sank lower and lower until the lid rested against his chest.

“I … uh…” One syllable, one step. Until he abruptly sat down when the foot of the bed stopped his retreat.

Her cuirass was still held protectively hiding his crotch. But to do so he had to spread his legs. With a wide step she was standing between his knees. Letting go of the blanket she snatched the Beskar from him and its drop sounded loudly. But it went down under both their cries. Hers a howl of triumph and his a shriek of surprise as she pounced on him. The screeching of the bedframe wasn’t to be heard with their laughter as they wrestled on the bed.

They were both breathless when he spooned around her. And she stilled for a moment when she heard the familiar hiss of his helmet and then she felt him pecking kisses along her shoulder and neck. She knew better than to turn and nestled her head deeper into the pillow.

“She has given herself to me … Sounds better?”

She hummed contently and wriggled in his close embrace. His laugh was cut short by groan.

“Don’t. We are supposed to find rest.”

Pressed tightly against him, his body told her differently and she lifted her leg over his hip, hooking it at the back of his thigh. It made him moan again.

With a dramatic sigh she stopped her slow rocking: “Then we have to rest … obviously.”

“Hmmpf seriously?!” His indignation was barely covered.

“You said so.” Her sing-song was teasing and she grinned when his roaming hand mapped out her sensitive spots again.

“What if we find rest … later. What would you say?”

Keeping still was difficult under his ministrations, keeping silent didn’t cost as much effort. She put everything in the purr with which she answered him: “Then I’d say …take me.”

The growl was low, the sting where he bit into her neck sharp, it had her squeal and squirm, but his strong arms kept her in place.

Rest they found, in between. Slumbers and naps of boneless exhaustion, just to awake to either the hot desire or caresses of the other. She couldn’t remember when he had slipped out of the bed to switch off the light, or when he had slipped his helmet back on.

When they did wake up in the morning to rap on the door and a mechanical voice announcing that their breakfast had been served they were not surprised that the tray held breakfast for two. She smiled lopsided when Tern mumbled something about Karrde being a good loser. It wasn’t like he had much of a chance anyway. Not with a naked but armed Mandalorian as competitor.

-*-*-*-

He woke to a droid announcing that his breakfast had been served and when he opened the door he just got a glimpse of a helmet and parts of a bare torso retrieving a much larger tray than his own. He smirked and congratulated himself on his decision to get the last room on the corridor to get at least some sleep.

When he observed his daughter he could barely keep back a taunt. She didn’t look rested, not at all, but she looked happy. He didn’t miss the glances she now and again cast at Tharam and he was sure that the visor scarcely ever left her.

He didn’t have to reach our far or prod deeply, they just both literally shone. Bright _greens_ intermingled with _ivories_ , a twirl of _blues_ overlapped _reds_ turning them to _purples_. He pulled back the very instant – _seeing colours is inefficient, it is a sign of weakness_ – but it had been enough to store them to his memory.

He nourished his own suspicions when he watched Karrde’s grumpy reaction – _browns_ flew around him – as they bade their farewell. He hadn’t heard any commotion at night, but the man clearly kept his distance to Vayra – _dirty beige_ – and always made sure that either of them was between him and Tharam Tern – _greens turned sour_.

He was curious, but he waited. He didn’t say anything when they were on the shuttle, he waited until they were on her ship and only after she had set them onto their way back to Garos and then joined him and Tharam in the lounge area he couldn’t keep still any more. It was perfect, both were sitting opposite – _greens_ and _ivories_ – him and so close that their legs touched, there was no way for them to escape his scrutinizing eyes.

“So what upset Karrde so much that he literally wanted to be rid of us?”

He heartily bit off his ration pack and chewed while he watched them. Heads came up quickly – _bright flares_. Both staring unerringly at him. The visor just a reflecting blue, Vayra was easier to read – white – red – white, in quick succession her facial colour changed.

Luckily Tharam had more to say than his daughter who simply stared at him, mortified.

“He imposed himself on her”

“And?” He cocked an eyebrow and just knew there was more to it, he just had to coax it out of the younger man.

“Threw him out.” The level voice did not deceive him – _greens_ wavered like wildfire.

“And?” A grin started on his lips.

“Might have slammed the door in his face.” That wasn’t just the end of the story and he knew it.

“And?” His grin widened.

“Maybe I pointed a blaster at him.” – _greens_ burned.

“And?” He was hardly able to suppress his snort.

“Maybe I wasn’t dressed properly.” – _greens_ flaring blindingly bright.

His laughter roared through the common area and probably farther. Tharam’s shoulders rose.

“He just wore his blaster, a helmet and my kriffing cuirass as a replacement for his briefs.”

“Might be a bit restrictive in certain situations.” The image was too vivid and he lost it completely. Tharam had gone completely quiet and besides his laughter there was only Vayra’s snigger to be heard. And he more felt than saw – _yellows_ – the flare of anger spreading from him.

Tharam’s voice started so low that he almost didn’t catch it. “He’s your father. You didn’t have to go into detail, not in front of …him.” The brave stood abruptly: “I need to … clean my blaster.”

With Tharam storming off, he sobered up immediately. Despite all, it was hard to see beneath the helmet, he hadn’t thought the brave to be that sensitive.

“Your _goor’verd’ika_ needs some calming, I guess. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Might have done something similar myself. Still, tell him I’m sorry. I will talk to him later, when he’s not that mad at me anymore.”

She rose, slowly: “Would you also have said _she is taken_?”

Her blush was endearing and he winked: “Sure, especially with Karrde’s behaviour. One has to stake one’s claims. Have been wondering when he finally does. Glad he finally did.”

She scoffed and prepared some caff and settled back with him: “I’ll give him a few minutes.”

He nodded and pulled out his data pad. In some hours they would be back on Garos and he wondered how the tribe had fared there. As they hadn’t received any news he hoped that this was actually good news.

He started to type into his pad when an idea hit him, he looked at his daughter: “The course you have set, we could use it to set up the first signals. Beacons here, here and here. Covers an area in that diameter. If any one of us is out there, they can pick it up.”

He could see the worry in her face when she looked from the pad back up at him: ”What? The heavy infantry agreed.”

“What if someone else picks it up? It will lead them to us.”

“No, they will just hear some mashed static noise. And if they actually are clever enough to decipher it as a message, they still have to encrypt and translate it. A threefold safety lock and not traceable.”

“What will the message be?”

The night before he had thought long about it, tried different words and sayings, had them transferred to Dadita and tested their appearance in the static. It had to be short, recognizable still easily identifiable. Something genuine.

“Our words to seal a pact. _Haat, ijaa, haa'it_. Short and genuine. Reoccurring letters have proven to create the least conspicuous static.”

“So five noises for five letters?”

He nodded his conviction: “It’s worth a try.”

“Then the cockpit is all yours and I … well, I’ll be busy elsewhere.”

He only quirked his brow with a smile: “I try to keep in mind their different grade of socialising.” At her raised brows he added: “Won’t happen again.”

“Was my fault too. But I should have recorded Karrde’s face.” She grinned with a hint of mischief when she tried to imitate the slip of the man’s grimace. It made him laugh till his eyes watered.

“Enough, go and make up with your r-man. Will inform you before the jumps.”

When she was gone he prepared everything for the three beacons. Just before he was in the right position he warned them that they would leave hyperspace soon and started the five-second-countdown. He thought that he heard a squeal and listened intently for some seconds, but as there were no more sounds he concentrated on his task again.

He was done in a short time and continued to the next two positions. After he had set all three signals he informed them that he would soon return to hyperspace. Shortly after, he started the countdown. This time there was no sound to be detected and he dismissed his first impression.

He swirled both, pilot and co-pilot seat, so that they faced each other, reclining he stretched out. He leant his head back and closed his eyes against the blue swirls.

_If there is only peace when there are no emotions, then there can’t be any passion._

His fists curled around the armrests.

_But passion and with it compassion is what makes us alive. If there is no passion I can also be a rock and gather moss._

His knuckles slowly turned white. His eyes flashed open, burning as he stared into the darkness streaked with white.

_Only if there is passion I can get strength. But it was one-sided – use your anger – and destructive._

His knuckles cracked. The quests and fights, only the strongest survived – how man had vanquished under his strength, his Force.

_I’m in danger of becoming what I was, unless I am able to channel the passion and use it to focus. And if I can focus I can find the serenity I’m missing … sometimes._

He chuckled darkly. The wardroom and the newly appointed lord – older than him, bossing him around – weaker than him, dead.

_It was the strength that granted me power … a power I never sought._

His balled fists pulled off the armrests and turned palm-up. Ilum – he had gone the traditional way and harvested a Kyber crystal – the punishment for it, he had endured and survived it. His shoulders twitched.

_But in serenity lies a certain strength. The strength to accept that some things can’t be changed, no matter how much we wish for them to be different._

He smiled ruefully. He had followed the appropriate steps – again he had taken the punishment when the result was not red – nevertheless he had added the crystal under the cover of night – not to the tube but to the blade. He had made up his mind.

_It was the power that helped me to achieve victories – over the other apprentices, in the quests and missions, in the academy – without it I would have perished._

His fists slowly unclenched to claws. Blues flickered in the cockpit. Small streaks of crackling electricity flickering and jumping between the last digits.

_But only the ultimate victory had brought me the freedom I sought, it broke my chain._

His lips pursed in disgust. The academy and the overseer – his cat-o'-nine-tails next to him, next to his twisted form – rushing out of the building and down the wide stairs – the alert sounding much too early – two lords at the end of the stairs – gone down in an explosion of silver and purple streaks – turning right along the wall – apprentice and lord – gone – past the entry of the tomb – more – gone – past the elevator leading into the valley – more – so many slain to get to the shuttle of the minor lord, his only ticket off-world Korriban.

_This victory brought – later, much later – at least some kind of harmony._

His claw snapped shut into a fist again. Gone was any crackling, any flickering. Only the streaks of stars rushing past lightened the cockpit.

_If there is darkness I will be the light. If there is light I will be the darkness. I won’t make the scales tip._

His skin tickled where a single tear found its way down his cheek.

-*-*-*-

He was agitated and angry at their host’s audacity. He had seen the smaller man’s leering eyes and it had had his blood boil. He had seen him reach out to her bare shoulder just seconds before he had made his presence known.

Karrde had neither asked if she wished to see him later nor if he could touch her. A lesser woman, or one without a protector wouldn’t have had many means to avert his intrusion, and it made him seethe.

He was sure that she would have made short work of him, but maybe he had been too rash in his action, maybe he should have waited to see how she would deal with Karrde. He knew he would have liked it.

Watching her in the darkness was no problem with the instalments of his helmet. He watched her shoulder rise and sink with her breaths and his eyes followed her outstretched hand, she was seeking him in the darkness. Their room had been dark, the corridor was bright and now she was flung back into darkness and her eyes had not adjusted yet.

With her warning he changed the helmet’s settings in time to not be momentarily blinded. She blinked a few times and when her sparkling eyes trailed over him she started to smile. Instinctively he took a step back, vicelike he gripped onto the cuirass. He felt scrutinized, observed and if he hadn’t been undressed already her eyes would have done the job right then.

He swallowed a silent gasp as she turned the whole situation into a game of hunter and prey. Dumbfounded at first he started to like the idea of being her prey, although he didn’t give in that easily when they ended up in a carefree game of wrestling. He made sure that her back was tucked snuggly against his chest when she finally had more giggles than fight in her.

It was his yearning to not only hear her in the dark, but kiss her and see the effect it had on her with the lights on. It was his longing to not only taste her in the black, but to see the wet trails his tongue left on her skin, he wished he could always leave the lights on.

His plans, to caress her soft skin with kisses before he either switched off the light again or put on his helmet again, were sabotaged by her when he felt her shift and hook her leg over his hips. He felt his resolve to rein in his excitement weaken into almost non-existence, her tease made it only worse, but at her words, those magic words he had spat at Karrde, he was instantly a goner.

Where he had taken his time when he bedded her the first time he let her feel his simmering passion now. With slow paces and languid strokes of love-making they spend the time when they woke sometime in the middle of the night.

He woke in the early morning with her body draped over his. Lifting only his head he slipped his helmet on. It was not that he didn’t trust her, but there was only one way to do it properly, no matter much he longed to see her and to let her see him. His heart thumped heavily in his chest. Again it was up to her, to give herself to him. He would have to wait, but he could not be idle meanwhile.

The droid bringing the breakfast in the morning woke them. And sitting back to back on the bed and sharing the meal was more or less the last time he turned his head away from her for the rest of their stay on Myrkr.

He made sure that Karrde saw him always in her vicinity, but he also noted that the man kept his distance. He smiled under his helmet, he had made an impression. He was smug about it, until he saw Vayra stifled a yawn, he was glad that the helmet hid his, it was just too addictive.

And he was only too glad when they were finally back on the ship. He was just about to get comfortable when Dargak started his investigation and he felt the heat rise from his neck up all over his face.

He felt Vayra tense next to him and spared her answering her father. But he should have known that simply stating that she had a nightly, uninvited visitor would not satisfy his curiosity, for that Karrde had behaved too strangely.

Where he had been slightly proud of having got rid of their host and where he had savoured what it had resulted in the previous night, he now was more than embarrassed with each detail the Zabrak pried out of him.

To be the source of Dargak’s entertainment had him mortified until he understood that it was not on his expense that the other man laughed. And having had two pieces of Beskar on his body had left him at least somewhat armoured, at least in the wider definition.

Though in the aftermath he hoped that abusing Vayra’s cuirass to cover his crotch hadn’t desecrated the Beskar in any way. It hadn’t been like he could have gone for his briefs, there had been lying more or less next to the door.

He was still taken aback when it was Vayra who unveiled the delicate particulars. Again he wrangled with his rashness. His uncertainty rose. Was she mad that he had misused the chest plate, or that she didn’t have the chance to throw Karrde out herself? Had he ridiculed himself, or belittled her?

Suddenly he couldn’t think clearly anymore and it made him angry, at Karrde, at himself, at everything. He had to do something, anything: “I need to … clean my blaster.”

Luckily the ship was big enough and he stormed into the storage room to find a quiet corner. But his own blaster was not enough, he needed to keep his hands busy for a longer time. He searched around until he remembered, all the weapons were still on the shuttle.

He swore and made his way back up into the shuttle. A quick glance told him that Dargak showed Vayra something and their attention was diverted. Settling into the co-pilots chair he pulled one weapon after the next out. Disassembled, cleaned and assembled them again.

He had gone over the used ones when he continued with those they hadn’t even been used. Then he heard her voice call his name, she was looking for him, he ducked his head between his shoulders. He could retrace her steps with each call for him. The storages, the medbay, his room, a hesitation, then he heard her climb up the latter.

“Tern?”

He hummed lowly, not in the mood to speak out. And he only glanced up quickly when she came closer and entered the cockpit.

He was still staring at the gun in front of him when she came to stand next to him.

“Tern?”

She sounded so insecure. He sighed into the ache she managed to open in him.

“Hmmmm.”

“Dargak would like to talk to you.”

Automatically he rose to be met by her hand on his shoulder.

“Later she said. “He wants to say he’s sorry, but he will tell you himself, later.”

He didn’t raise his helmet to look at her and only nodded once.

“And I’m sorry too. … The scene itself was comical, Karrde’s face was hilarious and you …”

He tilted his head even further down, the last thing he wanted to hear now was that he looked funny. But he didn’t get too far in his melancholic way of thinking as she stepped over the box and drove him to sit back down again.

“… you were most savage, fierce, protective … just to see you like this … all raw power and primal instinct ...”

His head did swing up on that. It was not only what she said but how she said these words, how her tone changed, how her breathing changed.

“That’s how you saw me?”

“Hmmmm” She smiled down at him and pulled her lower lip through her teeth.

His jaws clinked shut. He didn’t miss the small step she took to widen her stance, the small shuffle that brought her closer.

“Jump in five, four, three …”

“What?”

“two, one.”

He quickly reached out and pulled her onto his lap. Her shriek pierced his earpiece. But she stayed where she was, on his lap. His heartbeat quickened when she settled even closer, only Baskar and fabric separating them.

He tensed his muscles and shifted his hips slightly, testing her reaction and felt her roll in response. His hand snapped back and slapped at the control to shut the door all the while he tilted his head back to give her better access to the seal.

When she didn’t lift his helmet his eyes searched what her hands were doing. He growled at the pooling heat in his groin as he watched her tighten a bandana at the back of her neck. There had never been a need for a blindfold, but he definitely was intrigued, more than that, it had his blood boiling.

How they got to satisfy their needs so intensely was a blur within the blurring streaks of the hyperspace to him. But he held her to his heaving chest when Dargak announced a countdown again.

-*-*-*-

She hoped that Vayra had calmed down by the time she came back. But that dead end of the underground alley with its widening alcove was a perfect room for the two of them. Both she and her brother could retreat there perfectly.

She had almost claimed the chamber for herself and Paz, but he had insisted on taking the other one which was closer to the centre, well actually closer to everything. And she had agreed with him in the end. She understood his need to put himself in the first row to be able to fulfil his role as _al’verde_ , as the tribe’s heavy infantry, even if it was only to a remnant of the tribe. It also brought her closer to the area where they intended to set up their medbay.

There had been so much to be shifted into the caves, so many things had to be prepared and some parts the caves and their lay-outs had to be altered. It kept them all physically occupied, and when it came to finding a way to locate the source of the rivulet of water and to utilize it to their needs all hands had been needed.

Bril and Paz had alternated when it came to their tasks. While one went hunting, the other scouted, while one helped with the furnishing the interior, the other worked on the trees they had cut and prepared the wood for the further steps of building shelves, bedframes, lockers and drawers. When the Rulls’ were out to spend some private time they cared for the younglings and the Rulls did the same for them.

And then there had been Tharam’s request to look after the Boetay. First she had been quite alarmed when she saw the animal waiting and the forest’s edge, but as soon as they drew closer and got off the speeder the animal retreated at least a few steps. With each of their visits they brought some meat, which the beast took gladly. It looked better by far. The wound was healing and the food was filling its form slowly.

By their third visit they were greeted by the animal halfway to the low ridge they had to pass, and it ran, parallel to the speeder, back to the forest with them, with a wagging tail. She didn’t call Paz’s attention to the fact it was no longer limping, he had probably seen it already himself. Yet, when their next visit was due again, he didn’t say anything, packed the meat on the speeder and was already waiting for her. She smiled at the thought that he had actually taken to the animal.

Within the first week she and Paz paid a first visit to the Sundari famers. She had been slightly nervous at their first contact without Vayra, after all they were two new individuals representing their tribe. She had gathered and dried herbs, Paz had hunted down an antlered creature and a Manka cat and he had prepared its pelt.

With the speeder fully loaded they waited in a respectful distance until the farmers had become aware of them and only then they slowly made their way over. She could see the careful glances and the readied guns at their approach. Paz was scrutinized especially, although he had left his heavy cannon at the cave and donned only the E-11 blaster rifle.

Also she was taken in for a long time by the farmers. Instead of a black and a green-blue armoured Mandalorian they were confronted with a towering blue and a dark red armour. The farmers’ calculating gazes wandered from the loaded speeder to them and beyond them into the distance. They were looking out for the black armour that was known to them.

But the youngest Sundari, just old enough to be called adult, recognized the speeder.

“It’s her speeder! You belong to her!” He was the first one to close the distance, but instead of eyeing the speeder and its contents, he had only eyes for Paz’s hulking frame and even mustered the courage to circle him several times to take in the tall man from all sides.

The oldest man finally addressed them, choosing his words carefully: “Your … Mando’ade …, she had told us that there are more of you. If coming in peace, you are welcome.”

Paz made them take a step back when his bass came rumbling through his vocoder:” In peace we do come, to trade.” And he gestured to the heavy packs. “As it is, we could make use of bolts and screws for an exchange.”

The old man nodded knowingly. The woman in the black armour had told them that the tribe intended to settle, of course this would be basic needs for them. “Of course. We don’t have much, but we can share. And if your goods are worth trading in the city, we could sell them there for you and get what you needed.”

She had been quick to nod, agreeing to a deal that would make their presence in the city not necessary. Soon enough they would have to go to the market there themselves. But the less they were seen, the less people could come up with the idea that Mandalorians had become a constant on their planet.

Although it hadn’t been as much as they actually needed, with the supply of hardware they had got from the farmers they could continue with the first pieces of furniture needed for their small covert.

On their second visit Paz and she had been invited over to the farm. This time they had something else packed on the speeder.

Before he had left Dargak had been quite productive. Despite still having been slightly handicapped with his aching shoulder, he had proven to be an excellent crafter. Since she had made him sit still he had started to craft wooden boxes with interlacing corner pieces. Only a certain and expert twist of the boards separated them. And after he had got tired of just putting the boxes together he started to carve delicate patterns into the lid of the boxes. It had given her an idea and she had asked him to create more of the boxes in different sizes.

Now she had taken these boxes to the Sundari. Pulling out the four most decorated ones, which Dargak had even adorned with one of the green stones Tharam had found at the other volcano, she handed them to the females of the farm as presents. The impact it made was astounding, it broke the ice completely.

At first the flood of names as all the members of the family Ravaad were introduced by the oldest, by Kelrian, was overwhelming. She would definitely need some more visits to learn all their names. But Atria, Kelrian’s wife told her not to worry and thus she didn’t.

She and Atria got along from the first moment. The older woman had an enormous knowledge about the planet’s herbs. She was barely able to keep up with taking notes on her data pad. In return she offered some of the dried plants she had brought from Nevarro and her knowledge.

Also Silara, Atria’s daughter-in-law was amiable and she was an excellent cook, if the scents that caught beneath her helmet were an indicator. When she explained why she had to decline her invitation to join them for dinner a sad smile spread on the woman’s face. But Atria was more practical and started packing two portions of the stew for them to take with them.

They were barely seated when a small ruckus started behind one of the doors that led from the main room. A rather loud crash and loud wailing erupted before the door was thrown open. Two boys stormed out followed by a slightly older girl. On her hip she balanced the reason for the wails, a toddler.

Both she and Paz watched in stunned amusement when a ragdoll was launched and hit the smaller of the fleeing boys precisely in the neck. His yelp was more one of surprise than of pain, despite the weighted roundness working as a head hitting him.

“Amaya! Stop throwing things at your brothers! Brion! Gaven! What did you do this time?!” Silara, hands on her hips, blocked the boys’ escape route.

“T’wasn’t me! Promise,” the smaller one was rubbing his neck, his eyes slightly watery at the sting.

“Brion stepped on the doll and broke its nose off! On purpose!” Amaya was angry and she let everybody hear, no matter if they wanted to or not.

Brion didn’t stand for it: “It was an accident!”

“Then why are you throwing things at Gaven?” Silara asked sternly. “Brion!? Are you sure? Like the last three times?”

“Mis-aimed, “ was the girl’s grumpy answer as she bent and showed the piece of evidence her mother.

“Her things are lying around everywhere! There is no room to play.”

She could feel the ripple that went through the tall warrior next to her and her smile widened as she felt Paz’s thigh connect with hers. Hidden by the table, their upper bodies didn’t give anything away. One had to look beneath the tablecloth to see his nudging leg, or her hand clasping over his thigh and giving it a squeeze.

“Give Taima to me, maybe I can distract her with some food.” Her mother reached out and took hold of the sobbing child. “And you Brion will mend it. Alone. You can ask for advice but not for help. Mend what you destroy. Edvar is in the shed, ask him.” With a heavy sigh she tried to calm her youngest daughter.

With both boys off and out in a blink only the two girls stayed in the house. The younger one was slowly calming as her mother offered her a dried fruit: “Amaya, how often have we already had the talk about appropriate behaviour, necessity of a tidy room and ...”

“Just because I’m the oldest. That’s not fair! The boys have to clean up too, it is their things that lie around! I …”

“Please, we have guests!” Although Silara’s voice was quiet she girl closed her mouth with an unhappy huff: “Sorry.”

She could hear the agitated mumbles of the girl as she went back to the room and Paz had got very still next to her.

“Sorry for all that. She is getting too old to share the room with her siblings. Their quarrelling has become a constant, but we hadn’t had time to …” Silara had started her rambling while she was bouncing the little girl on her hip.

She heard Paz clear his throat before he spoke up: “We could help. Right now some hunters are off-world, but when they are back we could assist.”

Kelrian’s son, he had been so quiet that she had instantly forgotten his name again, was looking at Paz for a long time. His face didn’t give anything away as his eyes fixed the dark visor. Then he nodded: “Help would be appreciated. Harvest is rich this year, so we aren’t finished yet and not able to do these things or repairs for winter.”

From then on conversation had continued in a steady and calm flow. The weather, the seasons, the harvest, the people living closest, the city and its markets, goods that were sold and their prizes, the necessary repairs and the plans for the extension of the farmhouse. And time had drawn on without them noticing.

Tulata was astonished how relaxed the atmosphere here was. On Nevarro, no one had wanted to have any contact with them. At the market the stall owners had quickly and nervously handed over the goods they had asked for. Her little experiences on other planets were similar.

Sitting in the large but homely room that served as a kitchen and living room and talking quietly to the farmers who held no animosities was something she could get used to. But she was torn from her musings. The boys were returning and their whisper-shouting was easy to pick up.

“You ask!”

“No, you ask!”

“T’wasn’t my idea!”

“But you’re older!”

She turned her head towards the door and gave Paz’s thigh a squeeze. In answer he tilted his helmet slightly, he was listening too.

“You want to know.”

“Same as you.”

Their parents heard them too. And Silara’s husband grinned: “They are back our … cursed blessings or blessed curses, … haven’t decided which yet.”

The blank helmets with their opaque visors didn’t give anything away. Paz was faster than her to answer and all the while his thigh pressed warm against hers: “Younglings are a blessing and precious in our culture.”

“Do you have any younglings?” Silara was quick to ask, and she could only guess that she maybe wanted to do some from-mother-to-mother talking. “Oh! Sorry, didn’t want to be indiscreet, I just assumed. With you two …” Silara wove her hand between her and Paz in a vague gesture.

The helmet covered her fierce blush and she slowly shook her head. Having witnessed the family scene had warmed a space in her chest and she suppressed the sigh that threatened to make its way up her throat.

Feeling another nudge along with a slight friction, Paz lifted just his heel to make his leg rub against hers, had her momentarily distracted before she could answer: “Not yet. There’s been other priorities.”

Whatever Silara wanted to say else was drowned in an exaggerated stomping. The boys made sure that they didn’t bring in any dirt from the yard before Brion held out the rag doll. A rather proud smile adorned his face: “Mended.”

The small girl immediately reached out and made grabby hands towards her beloved toy. Tulata’s smile turned smaller. The toy was more rag than doll, but even that was more than their younglings had. But then she remembered Dargak’s carving skills, he could make some dolls like that, at least for the youngest ones.

-*-*-*-

The pitter patter of small feet, the high pitched squeals, the baby’s wails, the pouts and defences in childish righteousness. The younglings at the cave were not different. His smile was wide but wistful and everything tore at him. Younglings were precious, the future.

He couldn’t look at Tulata, but the warmth of her thigh and her hand on his helped to mend the weeping hole that had panged open in his chest as the children had flooded the room. They seemed so carefree, their world so whole.

No matter which youngling he looked at here, no matter which one he had cared for at the covert and now tended to at the cave. No matter how often and long he had sneaked time off of his duty, he was not to be satiated, he yearned. Yearned for more, for his own younglings. One way or the other. As long as the whereabouts of possible survivors was unknown adoption of any of the younglings was out of question.

It was impossible to not hear the boys’ dispute. His lips puckered before a wide grin bared his teeth. He liked the boys and overhearing their little heated exchange did everything to open that hole in his chest again. But it was too dangerous for them, still. He just couldn’t ask her, not yet.

Soon maybe, but what if none of the Nevarro tribe made it to them. Bril and Fina had adopted two younglings already on Nevarro. They might take a third one into their clan. He and Tulata could also care for three of them, even a fourth one.

But that still left at least three youngling without clan. One of them Liom. Sometimes the boy reminded him of Din. He reflected on how the quiet boy had kept to himself when Marteg had brought him one day. Polite and quiet, not afraid yet noncommittal, even Marteg hadn’t been able get any closer to the boy.

And then everything had changed with their flight. He had started to take care of the youngest two and after Ossus he had taken to Dargak. Where the other younglings had shrunk back he had stayed. For him it had been almost a miracle to watch how the Zabrak’s intuitive caring had thawed the ice.

From then on he had watched closely any interaction between the Krybans. And soon he could admit with a satisfied nod that the Zabrak was more than competent. Thinking about the younglings, Dargak came to his mind as a potential parent. He had already adopted once, Vayra, he might again. At least that was what he hoped when he thought of Liom.

This left two clanless younglings and his mind strolled to Tharam. The gods may help him, but he couldn’t see the younger hunter as a responsible father. A loving and caring father, yes, but not accountable. His brain was suddenly very creative in imagining the various disasters Tharam and his adopted younglings would fall prey to. And now that he was more or less courting Vayra, would he be willing at all?

He was not sure. Vayra herself was a white canvass to him, although she might save the Tern clan from Tharam’s antics. The more he mulled over the problem the clearer the only possible solution became, they needed a bigger tribe, more Mando’ade.

He had heard the boys’ discussion when they were still outside, even without Tulata’s hint had his ears picked up their urgent and loud whisper. When they had finally entered he made sure that they knew that he was looking at them.

Luckily his vocoder didn’t pick up his amused puff at their jittery attitude. He kept his bass at a soothing timbre when he addressed each boy with a slight turn of his helmet: “Brion, Gaven. What is your question?”

Gaven elbowed his elder brother in the ribs: “He knows our names.” His voice was a loud whisper of awe.

Brion played the cool one: “F’course, mum said ‘em.”

“But he remembers.” Gaven’s large blue eyes never left Paz visor and the hole in him widened again.

“I do. So, what do you want to know?” He shifted and with both elbows on his knees he reduced his height, bringing his helmet almost down to the boy’s level.

A lot of head scratching and dust kicking was performed before Gaven finally found his voice again: “Do you have … I mean … are there any kids … to play with? Dad said that …”

“Gaven!” Norwan, his father was too slow to intervene.

But he only raised a hand to show that he was okay with the youngling’s curiosity: “Well, yes there are younglings, even about your age. But we do not live close and right now … I see another problem, they know other games than you do …”

“We can teach them ours and we can learn theirs.” The boys’ eagerness almost defeated him instantly.

“I don’t think your parents would be happy if you played our games.” The woman’s wide eyes and a sharp, quick nodding proved him right.

He ruffled the boy's blonde shock of unruly hair, too sad his eyes had turned: “We will give it a thought, okay? No promises though.

The Ravaad farm was so far off that the children had only themselves to play with. The two young men had to do their chores and the girl was not interested anymore either. It was not like in their culture, here girls did not participate in the games boys played. If it came to a meeting among the youngling he would have to set up strict rules, for both parties involved.

-*-*-*-

Before she realised the third week since the Keldab had taken off was coming to an end and they hadn’t heard anything of them. Of course she was used to hunters being out for weeks, sometimes months without sending back any information home. But as usual, when her younger brother was involved, she started to become restless after some time. 

“What are you thinking about?”

Startled she turned around to see Fina standing behind her, arms crossed and maroon helmet tilted. How she had ended up at the entrance to Tharam’s and Vayra’s room she couldn’t remember, and how she had missed the other woman sneaking up on her was something she couldn’t comprehend, but by the way Fina looked at her she must have spent quite some time just standing there, observing her.

“Just wondering when they come back. It’s been some time and we haven’t heard from them.”

She tried to shrug the feeling off that had her restless. Tharam was experienced enough, Vayra had seen more than her share and only the gods knew what Dargak had come across already.

“They are fine and I’m sure already on their way back. You know what it is like when they are on a hunt. Always in a rush and they tend to forget that those at the covert might wonder or even worry.”

Fina hung loosely her arm over her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.

“You know, it’s not like he always comes back hurt and bleeding.” The squeeze on her arm was also meant to comfort her, and it might have worked if Fina had found other words.

She tore herself out of her reflecting worst case scenarios and took a step away from Fina. Her voice was oozing sarcasm: “You definitely know how to brighten my day.”

“Hey, he was only hurt only on his first hunts and when he ran into _her_.” Fina shrugged and in an attempt to divert the topic she looked around the private chamber: “Do you think he will like what you did here?”

She smiled slyly. Once a long, long time ago she had become aware how Fina favoured Tharam, once before a certain warrior in maroon had entered her life in a head-over-heels event and swept her off her feet, more or less literally.

“I hope so. If not we can still adjust and change things.” She looked around. There was not that much to see yet. One of the furs which Dargak had worked on before his departure was placed in front of the large bed and two of the larger containers had found their place next to the other wall. The entrance could be covered with a cloth which could be either fixed to the wall or easily pulled back and held open with a rope.

“ _Buir_! _Buir_!”

They both quickly turned to the excited voice. Using her hands to press herself off the wall as she rounded the bend at high speed, Asiva skidded to a halt and doubled over pantingly. The words came out in a rush between her pants: “They called! They’ve just called! They are coming back!”

“When? Did anyone get hurt? Have they…” She couldn’t stop herself, the questions just jumped from her head to her tongue and were out in a blink.

“The _al’verde_ only said that I should tell you that they would be back by that evening.”

She pushed past the other women. Both, Asiva and her _buir_ Fina could only watch stunned as she was off in a blink to find Paz. She found him near the entrance to the cave: “ … and Tern, … _gar di’kut_. Over and out.”

Carefully she walked up closer. First she thought that she was imagining things, but the soft resonating effect of the cave left no room for any doubts, Paz was rumbling one if his low chuckles which made his shoulders softly shake.

“What did he get up to this time?” She tilted her helmet as if she was expecting the worst, though Paz’s laugh let her hope differently.

“Your khi’vod? Nothing. Well, nothing bad.”

She knew by the way he turned his helmet to her that his grin was broader than that of a Nexu.

“So? Are you going to tell me?”

“Nope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vaar’tur: morning  
> haashun: parchment bread - a thin sheet of bread dried to preserve it, and reconstituted in liquid. Mando ration-pack staple. Made properly, it;s so thin you can read through it, hence the name; 'see-bread'.  
> ad: child, son daughter  
> Gar beroya: You are a bounty hunter.  
> goor’verd’ika: little grenadier  
> “Haat, ijaa, haa'it: Truth, honour, vision  
> al’verde: commander  
> buir: parent; father, mother  
> gar di’kut: You are an idiot.  
> khi’vod: little brother


	42. Green is duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> song list:  
> 1) TUOMAS HOLOPAINEN - A Lifetime of Adventure https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JWwSVOo5K_k  
> 2) Imagine Dragons – Warriors https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o3W5ngVTtRE  
> 3) (Vayra & Tulata/Paz) Havasi – The Duell (priano, drums) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6P0oPdIT1gI&list=PLbz_OLU6cYtAI3jRI3fkvG6jfUDqMODB7&index=8  
> 4) (Tharan & Vayra) Kalandra (Wardruna cover) – Helvegen https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6by9cl24Cw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming home is not free of troubles

When they entered the atmosphere of Garos again she had just finished the aftercare for both of them and with her trousers back in place and him tucked back in she turned and sat back down on Tern’s lap. His hands pulled her back against his chest and they watched the blue ocean race past them beneath the Keldab.

Soon they flew over the plains where the farm was located and she noticed that Dargak had slowed the ship. He wanted to take a quick look and she was grateful to get a glance. Everything seemed to run along the daily chores and duties, nothing seemed out of order. The fields shone golden with the evening drawing closer and she could make out where the farmers had already harvested and on which fields they still had work to do.

The greens of the forest had Tern lean forward and she knew what he was looking for. She ran her hands over his forearms where only the Duraweave fabric covered them: “I’m sure your sister and her _riduur_ have cared for it.”

He hummed at her back and the resonation in his chest made its way to her even through the plates of Beskar. For a moment she closed her eyes and relished the feeling that settled deep in her – _yaim_. Her heartbeat increased at the realisation what Tern had become to mean to her. The longer she thought about it, the clearer it became that where he was, her home would be from now on.

When the harsh drop of the cliffs appeared they made haste to bring what was stored in the A’den down to the Keldab. Night would close in soon and there were still things on board which could be stored in the quarters of the caves.

The others were already expecting them. Her ship hadn’t come in unnoticed and besides the smallest younglings everybody was there. Many helping hands had the ship soon emptied. Tulata and the _al’verde_ helped to direct everybody to where the containers should go. Soon she was the last to stand in her ship with a container holding her belongings.

“What are you waiting for? The _baar’ur_ showed you your quarters I’ve been told.” The dull blue helmet tilted to an angle.

She had donned her own, just as her father had. It had become a regular thing as soon as they were with the members of the relocated tribe, especially with the _al’verde_ around. She let go of a slow exhale, trying to push down the irking feeling, and nodded once.

“We are still not done with the furnishing, but the essentials are already installed. The _baar’ur_ can show you around.”

He had done it again and this time she couldn’t keep quiet. Defiantly she lifted her helmet with the same tilt he had come up: “You forget that I know her name, _save trat’aab_.”

At her slicing jab he huffed and turned to go. But then he stopped and looked over his shoulders to say: “ _Ruug’la jalyre ramaanar urakto_. I might get used to it one day.”

Her head tilted to the other side as she smirked – _maybe this Bantha of a warrior is not that bad_. Remembering the cove Tulata had shown her, she made her way through the corridors of the cave. Stepping over a toddler her, lifting her box to two younglings rushing past her there, she rounded the last bends and followed the narrow way that lead up to the cavity that had been assigned to her and Tern.

Seeing the bed, wide enough for two, and the chest of drawers, brought back the memory of how she had felt with sharing the room with Tern at first. Smiling she shook her head, disbelieving at how much her way of thinking had changed within the last three weeks.

A soft bump at her back made her almost stumble into the room. Tern’s green-blue armour looked dull in the dim light and she looked up to see the source that brought this scarce light that coloured the room in a muted orange. Looking up she saw the small lamp over the entrance. And with it she took in the further additions that had been made.

On the other side of the room, which had been completely empty on her departure, stood a small table with two chairs. A rather large cabinet stood to the other side of the entrance. On it was a large bowl and and pitcher.

Her eyes swept back to the bed. On both sides long haired furs decorated the floor and a small nightstand was also a new addition. On it a slender vase held a flower – the Malreaux rose. Its dark violet was even thicker in its dried form. Seeing the rose he remembered Jormark where he had given it to her. There it also had been placed on the small nightstand. A warm lump settled in her chest and made her smile in fond rememberance. She had been unaware that he had taken it with him and somehow he had managed to dry it perfectly.

Her head swivvled back to the warrior and he simply gave her a small nod before he made his way to the chest of drawers. There he put down the container he had carried. He also took hers and placed it next to his. 

With a glance back she noted the heavy draping at the entrance. The helmet still covered her smile, but not for long. As soon as she had pulled the draping close and secured it to the hooks in the wall she pulled off her helmet and put it on the cabinet. With a few steps she was standing close to Tern.

It was with a swift movement that her fingers hooked into the cuirass and pulled him flush against her. His astonished grunt turned to a content hum when she made him lean in for a Keldabe kiss. Her gaze into his visor was intense and she pronouncedly closed her eyes.

She smiled when her ears picked up the familiar hiss and it was her turn to hum contently when his lips brushed softly against hers. Hungrily her lips nipped as his and her fingers searched for the locking mechanisms of his armour. She only managed to free the first clasp when she felt her cuirass come lose.

She covered her gasp of surprise with a breathy laugh and both didn’t take long to have the other unclad. Between kisses, each peace of Beskar and Durasteel marked their way to the bed, they shed the other of the restraining layers. And it was only some time after that they emerged from their room, still slightly out of breath, but ready to inspect the other parts of the covert.

They both marvelled at the progress of work. Much had changed in the weeks they had been off-world and more and more household pieces turned the cave into an actual home. The most astounding addition was the fresher room. The warriors of the Nevarro tribe had excellent engeneering abilities which they had put to use. A hidden well, conveniently warmed by they vocano fed the shower and flusher, but there were still things missing.

As they strolled through the corridors and open rooms they found the heavy infantry talking to Dargak.

“… traded some natural produce for the bolts and screws. But we need more. With the forge in Nevarro this had never been a problem.”

“I’m sure we could find something we could sell in Ariana.” Her father’s finger skipped quickly over the data pad.

“Those boxes. The ones you made while healing. The old farmer, Kelrian Ravaad, thought they might sell well. We would just need a means to sell them.”

The horned helmet came up to fix on the blue helmet in front of him.

“I could do that,” she volunteered having come closer with Tern in tow.

“We don’t want to expose ourselves.” The _al’verde’s_ answer was harsh.

“You wouldn’t be exposed. I pose as a travelling trader and no one will be the wiser about your whereabouts.” She smirked at the prospect of haggling with customers.

“The armour would give you away.” The tall warrior had crossed his arms and despite shifting his weight on one leg, he more or less looked like a wall that couldn’t be broken down.

“I can hide it under a cloak or I can …” She broke off, she could literally see the scowl and the man’s eyebrows rising. “… I have gone unsuspected of being a Mandalorian for years, just with the help of the cloak. I can do that again.”

Her father only quietly intercepted: “She has done that and I’m sure posing as a marketseller won’t bother her or expose you … _us_. And she would be already at the market to get what we need. We cannot always ask the Ravaads for help.”

The heavy infantry just grunted, switching into a slightly more relaxed stance.

“We still have to produce what we intend to sell, until then we can plan properly.” Her shoulders dropped slowly again with her father successfully diverting the likely argument.

When the blue helmet dipped in a silent nod, he seemed to be satisfied enough. Behind her back she reached out and Tern was quick to intertwine his fingers with hers. She was about to continue her expedition when she heard the heavy infantry clear his voice to get her attention: “Ahm …I’d need to talk to the _beroya_.” She looked back to Tern who suddenly started to shuffle uncomfortable, but gave her a short nod.

He had done it again, even in the safet of the cave, their covert if not even home. But there was nothing she could do, without compromising Tern. She was left with the only option to continue with the exploration of what had been changed and what still needed to be changed with her father.

-*-*-*-

He had brought the container with the belongings, which could stay at the cavern, to the quarters assigned to them. He hadn’t been astonished that it was quite close to the entrance. Something that had made him nod approvingly was the first basic equipment. A rather large chest and a bed which looked really sturdy adorned the room. It would be completely sufficient for a start.

Next he had sought the al’verde to inform him about the first beacons and the course he had planned to set up the next ones. Further details also needed to be addressed, such as the means to get at the things they needed most pressingly.

Soon enough they were joined by Vara and Tern at her heels. They had vanished for some time and his guess was less than a shot in the dark. He just kept himself in check from shaking his head in amusement. He rolled his eyes, but nevertheless reached out to the man in the green-blue armour. The brilliance that shone back almost blinded his senses, but like a small flame it was extinguished and replaced by a careful waver as soon as the heavy infantry requested his presence.

After they had somehow convinced the tall heavy infantry of sales strategy,he continued the tour through the caves with his daughter. She had tensed up in the presence of the dull blue armour, but now that they were on their own again he noted how easy her step was, relaxed her shoulders moved and, with a quirk of his brows, he observed the new sway in her hips. This time he didn’t want to be blinded again and kept carefully to himself.

They didn’t get far. From not too far off high voices and laughter reached their ears. When they rounded the corner, a short aisle opened into a large cove.

“ _Ba’vodu_!” They hadn’t even taken a step into the large room when a small form entangled from the heap they had launched themselves at – if one looked carefully a struggling maroon armour was to be seen at the very bottom – and threw itself at his quickly kneeling form.

The little arms latched onto the his shoulders and he safely lifted Liom as he rose to a stand again. With a few jostles the small boy was sitting soundly on his hip, his short legs dangling from both sides of the shiny black tassets.

“Where you been. You were gone awfully long.”

He had almost forgotten how blunt the small boy with his large green eyes was: “We had to take care of some business.”

“Off-world? Did you bring me something?” The boy tilted his head so he could look round Dargak’s shoulder and into his visor.

“Erm … no. Unfortunately, there was no time. And no place where I could get something either.”

He slowly turned his whole body at the soft chuckle that came from his daughter’s helmet: “Stop laughing. You were just like him.” The hum he heard from here was rather high and he knew which kind of smirk she displayed under the safety of her helmet.

He hadn’t gone on hunts as long as she had been a baby and even when she had reached her toddler years he had only accepted jobs within day’s travel. As soon as she had been able to waddle up to him to greet him on his return he had had some small gift for her: a sweet fruit, a pretty flower, a small wristband, a toy or a sparkling stone. When she had been older the gifts had become bigger and more appropriate for a Mandalorian: a knife, a new sheath for it, fabric for a new neck scarf, and as soon as she was trained he had gifted her guns, an electro staff, the Beskar axe and other weapons, ammonition and on the day she swore the Creed it had been the pearl black armour and the new vambrace with its retractable vamblade.

He remembered maybe not all presents, but, and he was actually astonished that, he remembered quite a lot of them. While he was giving in to his memories Liom tucked at his helmet.

“What is it, little one?”

“Do you now also wear it all the time?” There was a certain sadness in the boy’s tone.

He shook his head and set him down immediately. While he nestled his helmet open he tried to explain: “No, not all the time. But your al’verde and the other verde seem to be more comfortable. I guess your tribe shows their faces only to their family.” Under a baited breath he mumbled: “At least that’s what I hope that they do.”

As soon as Liom had found his seat on his hip again, there was no way that he would let go again. When he found out that they were inspecting their new home he was more than eager to show them around. Thus they continued, always directed by an excited voice and a small arm waving to where they had to go next.

With one hand he pulled out his data pad and handed it to Vayra. On their way through the different grottos and lager chambers he made her take notes about what was still needed to be done and what they required for it.

It was similar to what he had done on Ossus already. Back then he had been glad that he had been given the task to plan for their new settlement. It had given him more time with Vayra, it had given him a new purpose besides Vayra. With his old world gone, being able to be a part of creating a new homestead had helped him a lot. And it had helped the others to assess him better, to help him to integrate better.

With Vayra growing older he had taken on more and more tasks. Whether it had been supply runs, construction work or supervising the training sessions, he had taken everything to occupy himself and give his daughter a wide range of opportunites to learn and to prove herself. Only after Vayra had left he had handed on the tasks to the younger warriors and retreated. He had still provided for the tribe, but no longer with tasks that had him involved with the others.

On hunts, both on bounties and for the meat supply he had preferred to go alone. On search parties for other Mando’ade he had been the sole member. On quests to gain any worthwhile information he had stayed to himself. There were not many that he tolerated in his vicinity, not after Vayra had left.

Ron Kex had been one of the few whose company he had still appreciated and sought. And when he had found Sharjea Ordo on one of his missions, he had immediately taken a liking to the cordial woman. When he had brought her to Ossus and seen Ron’s smitten reaction he had tried hard not to laugh. He had been glad for both of them and even more relieved when it hadn’t changed Ron’s closeness to him. Besides them he was known to not get along for too long and they had let him be.

With the stettling of the Nevarro tribe he had fallen into old habits again. His carpenter’s and constructor’s eye took in quickly what was essential and necessary or neglectable. His list of priorities got longer as they wandered around.

As one of the last places Liom showed them to the med area. He made sure to ask what the healer was missing, making her also set up a list from ‘most needed’ to would ‘nice to have’.

“ … and the absolute highlight would be a Bacta tank.”

He had heard the embarrassment and longing in the healer’s laugh. The tank would be an ultimate goal, until they could get their hands on one she would have to make do with other ways to administer Bacta. That was if they had any. In the long run they would have to rely mostly on Kolto and hope for the best.

Both women went through the different shelves and their contents while he was waiting in the middle of the room with Liom still lodged on his hip. The sound of a hearty yawn had him crane his neck to get a look at the boy who started to snuggle his head into the unprotected part of shoulder.

He started a slow swaying moting, rocking the boy. Liom mumbled something but it was lost in the folds of the fabric covering his neck and the boy drifted into deeper sleep.

The healer glanced over at them. She kept her voice low: “Well, if you don’t mind. I would like to talk to Vayra.”

He cast his daughter a glance, but she feigned innocence and ignorance with a shrug.

“Sure. I just have to get rid of the sleepy burden here.” He fondly smiled at the boy who had fallen asleep on his hip.

“Left, the hall down and the third way to the right. We came up with a small dormitory for the younglings.

He nodded to both women and left them to whatever the healer had in mind.

-*-*-*-

She turned back to Vayra who kept herself busy with inspecting how she had arranged the med bay. She wondered how she should start. She wanted to know about their trip, but most of all she wanted to know how far the woman and her brother had proceeded. She and Paz had talked about the possibilities of either her joinging their tribe or, of course there was still the quite likely chance, of Tharam joining her clan. Both possibilities posed difficulties and there were so many things she found herself worry about.

Would she stick to her more liberal way of the Creed when she joined their tribe, could she get used to wearing the helmet when she was not with her immediate _aliit_? What if she didn’t, her _al’verde_ wouldn’t put up with it, she was sure of that.

And if Tharam joined her clan, again the question of how he would adapt arose. Would he still wear the helmet, would he become more liberal? For her it wouldn’t be difficult to accept, she had seen her brother without. But, what about the other members of the tribe?

Yet with Vayra her first questions aimed at less treacherous aspects. She was curious what the jobs had been about, how they had fared, what they planets, they had been to, looked like, even who they had met, and of course, if there had been any hints of other Mando’ade.

The longer she listened to the woman relating to the events of the past three weeks the more she got the impression that, despite how detailed she described some things, these were meant to keep her distracted from other things.

There was something the woman from the Ossus tribe didn’t want her to know. Things that had Vayra tense when she tried to make her go into detail, things that happened on both Jormark and Myrkr. And at least one thing involved her brother in a way that made her think the worst.

“What do you mean he bravely bought you time against the Vornskrs?”

All in Vayra’s posture told her how much the woman was calculating on what she was going to say. And it took her a long time to answer.

“ _Ru kemi miai be verde_.”

The answer, it told her nothing at all and everything at the same time and it froze the blood in her veins. But she had seen that Tharam would go to all lengths when it came to Vayra. He had done so the very instant he had met her on Nevarro, the more he would do now that he had got even more involved.

When all prodding didn’t help her to gain more insight she switched her tactics: “His commitment towards you has grown even more.”

As Vayra just nodded in acknowledgement, she thought she heard a sigh, but the vocoder distorted the noise too much. She hadn’t wanted to make the woman from Ossus feel uncomfortable, but obviously she had been too intrusive. Therefore she wasn’t surprised when Vayra inched towards the entrance and looked for an excuse to leave.

“I … I think I better continue with … It’s got late … I see you later.”

She hummed disappointedly, again her way to get more out of Vayra had failed: “Some things need getting used to. Rest well.”

Only her keen ear helped her to hear the quick mumble as the black cloak swished past her: “Yeah, definitely.”

-*-*-*-

While he had followed her through the hallways and to the common rooms he had time to catch up with his breath. He felt his neck heat up at how they had inducted the bed to its future tasks. In retrospect he appreciated how sturdy it had been built. It had passed their action with almost no squeaks of complaint.

With the heat slowly retreating and his breath returned to normal he stood in front of his _al’verde_ and tried to read his body language. The broad man stood relaxed where it came to his feet, but his crossed arms radiated sterness. The tilt of his helmet spoke of curiosity.

Inwardly he groaned, couldn’t the man, who had become his brother-in-law, be a bit more tangible. He must be doing that just to compromise and tease him. As he didn’t know any better he parroted the broad man’s way to stand, slyly wondering if it would end in their old game of who would make the first move. Back on Nevarro these stand-offs, mostly initiated by a snarky remark of his, had ended in the training quarter. And depending on how much he had irked the taller man, he more often than not had limped off the scene to his private quarters to lick his wounds.

Thus he was somewhat unsurprised when Paz chose to speak: “Outside.”

He had used his commanding voice and Tharam hated how it did things to him. At the harsh tone his body immediately tensed and snapped to attention. Years of training and service had burnt it into his very being. His body turned sharply and his feet carried him towards the entrance at a brisk speed. But it was not fast enough. Just as he left the cave he felt his helmet being snapped forward and the thud of leather slapping Beskar resounded in his ears.

He didn’t even try to correct his miffed voice: “What was that for?”

“Parroting. Over to the tree. You wanted to talk to me.” Paz pointed to the fallen tree where he had spent his time while healing.

Desperately trying to get rid of the military stance he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. When it looked to him like he sulked, he pulled his hands out again and let them hang at his side. Paz never said much and he had started to question his own sanity at his impulse to ask exactly him for advice.

They reached the large log and Paz pointed him to sit down. Having to look up at the already hulking man made him even more nervous and he clasped his hands onto his knees, grabbing them until he thought that he might give himself bruises.

“So what have you gotten into that you need advice with?” There was Paz again, standing in a relaxed way, with his weight on one leg, the other flared slightly and his arms crossed. There he was again, with this tilt of his helmet.

He reached up to his neck with one hand and scrambled his fingers beneath the neck scarf, rubbing the tense muscles: “It might not have been lost on you that I …”

He deflated with his exhale, all of a sudden all the carefully prepared words and arguments had evaporated: “I mean … I think, no … I know …” He was interrupted by a bemused grunt from an even more tilting helmet.

“Are you going to help me out or are you enjoying yourself too much seeing me struggling like an idiot?” He jumped up and threw his hands up in resignation, it was a helpless motion.

The grunt changed to a low snort which vaguely, but still reached his ears: “I see. No help then.”

He watched the snorting helmet shake once. With a growl he turned and kicked the log in frustration. It was much easier to continue without having to look at Paz: “On Myrkr she – we burnt the armours. We brought back the Beskar. The client let us stay for the night and we …”

“At least you don’t seem to need advice with that, but no details, please.” Paz voice sounded somewhat pressed and it made him look over his shoulder. The relaxed stance was gone, he seemed tense.

“No, of course not.” It was just a distorted mumble as he stared at the fallen piece of tree and the bark he had kicked off, but he knew the other warrior had picked up on it. “We came to an understanding … of sorts … I think it is time … I want to court her, but I’m …”

“They don’t wear their helmets.” The flatly intoned statement was enough to turn to the _al’verde_ again. He kept quiet, the angle of his helmet worded his question.

“This is not the way.” The way the blue armour hadn’t shifted didn’t help him much. He had always wondered who of the two, his fellow _beroya_ or their heavy infantry, was more devoted and zealous.

“It’s not like I wouldn’t wear it anymore.” The Krybans were Mando’ade like them, of course they would never force him to change his way. He had never thought about not adhering to their way of the Creed. The way how Vayra had always been accepting and never questioning, how she had made sure to make him feel safe with his Creed, it had never become an issue and he didn’t believe it to become one later.

“Seeing her baring her face to the world wouldn’t make you wish you could do the same?” He easily picked up on the genuine wonder in Paz’s voice.

His head shook before he answered: “Why should it? The ones, _ner aliit_ , I wished to see me could, according to the Creed. The _aruetii_ are not my concern and won’t ever see me.”

“Then, when you don’t forget about our ways, where is the problem?”

“I don’t know ... I don’t know how ... We tried to hand down so much, all we could. But nowhere, … I’ve heard nowhere of how to … how to woo the right way.”

He sat down again and with his elbows resting on his knees he let his chin sink into his palms. He didn’t care at all that he looked sulking now, because he was. With a sigh he mumbled on: “I want to do this right. I don’t want to look like a _di’kut_. But I don’t know how and I don’t have the kriffing means either.”

Slowly the larger man sat down next to him. He also rested his arms on his knees, hands dangling between them in a relaxed way. A moment passed before the blue helmet turned towards him: “What do you mean, _no means_? What about the hunts you ran.”

He could only shrugged his shoulders.

“I know that you have provided for the tribe, just like Djarin and I did. Stars, even I have saved up some. So what did you do with your share of the bounties after you had provided?”

He shrugged again: “The covert. Tulata. … Didn’t need anything. Had everything at the covert, so I gave it away.”

The sigh that came from the helmet next to him was only short of a growl: “As I said, you _are_ an idiot.”

“ _Al’verde_.” His groan was not any less frustrated. He felt stupid, but mostly drained and at a loss of any ideas and a kind of hoplessness seemed to come with it.

A more or less uncomfortable silence spread between them, each man hanging on to his own thoughts about the problem at hand. How much the man, who had exchanged his vows with his sister, was thinking about it on his behalf he learnt, when a defeated sigh emitted the dull blue helmet: “I wish we could talk to the Armourer about it.”

He hummed in agreement. Then he slightly turned towards the man on his left: “With no one else to ask. Would anything speak against asking her _buir_ for advice?”

The breath that Paz let go, was very measured, a long low sigh that spoke of him holding back. He would have given anything to see into the broad man’s brain. But he was restricted to just watching out for the tiniest shift or tensing of the blue armour and the dark Duraweave.

Then the massive helmet sank: “Ask your sister first.”

He nodded his thanks: “I will.”

“The reward for the recent jobs, how did you handle it? Should be some credits you could start with.” The bass speaking up stopped him within his motion to stand up.

“I don’t know. Didn’t ask.” Now that Paz mentioned it, he had to admit that he hadn’t given it even a single thought. Again he hadn’t cared about the credits, it hadn’t mattered as long as he could spend time with her.

The dull blue helmet sank with a soft thud against a dark glove and a soft, defeated groan slipped past the vocoder. With a sheepish grin he shrugged and let the lower end of his helmet sink against his cuirass.

“Go. Just go! Talk to you sister! Go already!”

At a quick movement at his side he jumped up and out of reach. The heavy infantry was annoyed, maybe not in a completely bad way, but he had no intentions of finding out how much he had agrivated the older man really.

Inside the cave and its many minor grottos he didn’t come across the Krybans, but for once he was glad. Snatching the information from one of the younglings, who was about to run past him, he found his way to the medical area.

The drapes were open and he peered into the bright chamber and immediately pulled back again. Armes crossed, bare fingers drumming an irritated rhythm, helmet lowered and tilted, weight on one leg. This was not a good sign.

But he hadn’t been quick enough, she had seen him: “ _K’olar_! _Nari gar shebs o’r_!”

He inhaled deeply and steeled himself for whatever Tulata had in stock for him, only then he rounded the corner again: “ _Ori’vod_.”

“ _Gebi bic_!”

He nesteld the cords holding the drapes open loose and let the heavy fabric fall.

“ _Gurire_!”

Her voice was unobstructed, she wanted him to see her without any barrier.That in itself meant trouble. It was rarely that she demanded him to take his helmet off. As _aliit_ it was her right, but something told him that right now he would prefer to keep his face hidden within the helmet.

She was angry about something and and he had no idea what it was. This was not a good start. He would have to wait for a better time to talk about his initial reason why he had sought her presence.

He turned and took in his sister. His eyes were drawn first to her feet, source of impatient tapping. Slowly his gaze wandered upwards. Beneath furrowed brows those light brown eyes flashed angrily at him. Her dark blond hair was longer than he remembered. That she had it strictly brushed off her face added to her stern look.

He started to nestle at the closing mechanism of his helmet and ruled in his own expression of confusion before he slipped it off and rested it against his hip.

“What does she mean with you chose the way of a warrior? What happened and … I want the details!”

The corner of his mouth twitched and he closed his eyes to let the feeling of having been revealed, even of betrayal, wash over him.

“Was the last one standing, so I defended them.”

“Details!” She all but shouted at him as she closed the distance between them.

“We couldn’t find the entrance to the temple. Dargak was down, hurt. She stayed with him, protected him. I tried to buy them time by attracting the Vornskrs attention. But then there was this man and I got flung back. And besides that I don’t know much about it anymore. Got knocked out and when I came to we were in the temple.”

“Of course she wouldn’t go into details with you trying to put yourself between her and death!”

Again his neck itched, as always she had been able to read between the lines, extracting information which he hadn’t giben. He tried to cover his consciousness by concentrating on rubbing his neck.

“Why was Dargak hurt?”

“One of the beasts got him, bit him. But Vayra had got these vials from Jormark. They saved him.”

“What kind of treatment did he need? Why would a bite require a special treatment other than cleaning and kolto?”

He worried his lower lip with his teeth, just adding to the rich suspicion that was showing plainly in his sister’s face. “They had an infectious decease, that’s why we were called to hunt them.”

He watched her eyes widen in recognition and with the way she sucked in air he knew that she was trying to hide something that made her afraid.

“Were you hurt?”

“No. Neither Vayra. So why are you angry?”

“I’m not angry.”

With a quick tilt of his head he pulled up his brow to show her how much he doubted her.

“Fine. I am angry. I had to accidentally find out about it by asking _her_. _You_ would have never found it necessary to inform me. _That_ is what makes me angry.”

She not only get go of her anger with words, but ended up grabbing his shoulders and shaking him so hard that he had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from rattling. He waited until she had let steam off and only then he peeled her hands off of him, and placed them, one after the other, against his chest. He waited until she looked up at him and he took his time to look into her eyes. There was anger, which he was not surprised to see, but there was also hurt and fear.

He needed to understand and it made him ask: “Back then, when I came back from a bounty hunt, you never needed a report. Why now?”

She stilled and started to contemplate her answer. When she let go of a deep breath and leaned her head against his shoulder he knew that she would calm down again.

“We lost so much already. Just the hint of losing you also, I think it just did something to me. She didn’t say much. Actually, she tried very hard to keept it from me, but I still heard it in her voice. It affected her also, Tharam.”

He wrapped his free hand around his sister and rested his head against hers: “We all have to adapt to the new situation. And don’t worry, she already made very clear what she thought about my actions.”

He chuckled lowly at the memory and at Tulata giving his arm a punch: “Yeah, she did that, too.”

“What? Punch you.”

He hummed his _yes_ : “More or less till I passed out.”

When she took his head in her hands, she made him peer into her eyes, again there was the worry and he quickly smiled and winked.

It made her shake her head with a sigh: “I hope it hurt, Tharam. I can only imagine how much you put her through with your heroicism. She is opening up to you, don’t risk it. You don’t have to prove your bravery to her, she is aware of it already. What she needs, is you to be there for her.”

Again he let his head sink against hers. Talking without having to look at her golden eyes was easier: “I do want to be there for her. In all aspects. I want her to be mine as much as I want to be hers.” His voice sank to a whisper when he added: “But I’m at a loss at how to get there.”

“Is she ready to say the vows, or are you rushing things?” There was concern in her voice.

“I’m not sure I … We …”

He stopped and huffed an awkward smile. But an encouraging brush against his cheeks made him continue: “I asked Paz, but he sent me to you. I want to court her properly. To give her time, but also to show her … that I mean it, that I’m worth it, without having to throw myself in front of some drooling maws. But as it is, I can’t do much else as I’m a creditless idiot.”

When his sister started to softly giggle he pulled back, confusion mingling with worry about what made her laugh. But she simly took his hand and pulled him along, over to a chest of drawers.

“Open the lowest one.”

Keeping his doubtful glance on her, he opened the drawer. Only one item was placed in it, one of Dargak’s wooden boxes. At her encouraging nod he took it out and wanted to hand it over to her, but she shook her head quickly and nudged her chin at him.

It felt heavy and a dull sound came from it when he shifted it from his right to his left hand. Before they had left, he had watched and even helped Dargak with the opening mechanism and he knew that in the beginning it was necessary to apply the right amount of pressure.

A dark cloth met his eyes when he had the lid off. His brows furrowed in a quiet question, but Tulata only grinned at him. Spurned on by another nudge of hers, he carefully drew the cloth back. His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. Several times he looked up into his sister’s smug face and back to the mixed array of several Besakr ignots and credits of various currencies in the box.

“What … where … how …?”

“This is what you earned and gave to me all the years. I saved it for tight times or … an occasion like this. You see, I never gave up the hope that you might commit yourself to someone finally. You might want it for your courting.”

“I …” He was completely blank as his fingers wandered over the single pieces. They didn’t answer all his questions, but they made finding an answer to some easier.

“I still am not sure how … It seems she has all she needs or wants.” He trailed off as a flood of ideas struck him all at once. Some he discarded immediately some lingered. He needed to sort them, he needed to find out what she would actually like.

“You can always come to me and ask. You could also confide in her father. After all, he knows her best.”

Still stunned he nodded. Then, out of an impulse he folded the cloth back, closed the box and turned to place it back in the lowest drawer.

“What are you doing? Why do you think I showed you this?” The look she cast him was incredulous and he grinned lopsidedly.

“I don’t need it right now. When I do I’ll come back for it.”

“Come back for what?” The low rumble that sounded outside the curtain belonged to Paz.

“I wanted to give him the credits I had stashed, but he declined.”

“Only for the time being.” He quickly justified himself.

The low chuckle from beyond the curtain had a slightly menacing tone to it: “Better is or he might lose it.”

He mouthed his thanks to his sister. Before he pulled his helmet on again he hugged her tightly and pressed a quick kiss on her forehead.

He slipped through the curtains and past the bulky warrior, but not without growling amiably: “You knew it all the time.”

“Not all the time, but for quite some time.” The laugh beneath the blue helmet grew louder. “Clever idea, to let her be your bank.”

“I’ve never asked her to …” He placed his elbow for good measure into the padded side below the Beskar plates and walked off.

The dark laugh followed him as he rounded the first corner. He went on, past corridors and into the darkness that had fallen outside. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the fallen tree again. With a sigh he sat down, stretched out his legs and leant back, resting his weight on his hands placed firmly on the trunk behind his back.

He could switch the HUD, but the low setting of the twinkling lights he could make out from behind the tainted T of his visor was more to his liking. It had a calming effect. The quietness and peace of the night slowly seeped into him.

There were no noises besides the nightly chorus of insects and some other nocturnal animals. He slipped down off the trunk and rested his back against the dry wood. With a soft thud he let his helmet set back and blinked up at the myriads of flicking tiny lights above him. It got harder and harder for him to keep his eyes open. Closing them for just a few moments seemed like a good option.

He neither saw nor heard the warrior in dull blue make his last round. Only when his leg was jostled by something he woke with a start, his hand on his blaster.

“Easy. It’s just me.Why don’t you go to bed?” Paz’s voice was steady and he relaxed. Still groggy he only hummed.

“Bet someone is already waiting for you and if I don’t send you in she will come looking for you.”

He grabbed the offered hand and was easily pulled to a stand. The hand on his shoulder steadidied him effortlessly, but had him unsteady at the same time when he felt it squeezing him.

The heavy infantry’s voice was barely audible when it made it past the vocoder: “Don’t make the same mistake. Don’t wait too long. If she wants you, she will accept you with or without the whole courting.”

He swallowed past the knot in his throat and exhaled audibly. Carefully he bobbed his head: “Yeah … _Vor’e_.”

He felt the hand on his shoulder send him on his way and continued his walk back into the cave, towards the grotto that was his, towards the cavern where she would be waiting.

She had extinguished the light already, using only the nightvision he made his way over to the bed and watched her curled up, seemingly sleeping form. She didn’t open her eyes or say anything, she just reached over her back and tapped on the empty space behind her.

The broad smile stayed on his lips while he silently dressed down to his briefs and slipped under the sheets. It lingered on his lips when he nestled his form into hers and breathed a soft kiss on her bare shoulder. It remained on his lips when she reached out to interlace her fingers with his and pulled his arm to her chest.

-*-*-*-

She woke to a furnace basking her in heat. Some places hotter than others. She was roused to a weight bearing down on her chest and all along her side. Inhaling deeply or stretching was impossible. Soft hair tickled her nose and her left arm and leg prickled numbly.

Keeping her eyes closed she tried to locate the position of his body and limbs under which she was half buried. His bent knee lay splayed over her thigh and loin, his head was nesteld on her chest, fanning it with his warm, steady breathing and his arm was lying over her ribs, his hand holding loosely on to her side.

Even where their bodies didn’t meet she could feel the heat radiating from him. But there was also a coolness on her body. She didn’t know where the blanket had ended up, but it no longer covered her and she felt how cold her feet had got.

With a smug grin she pondered waking him up with their iciness, but she felt his body curl and tighten on her. Her breath hitched when the stubble on his jaw rubbed over the sensitive skin of her breasts. A low mumble, a yawn, weight shifting on and along her body, and she felt his body stretch slowly like a lazy Loth-cat.

Bringing up her hand she ran her fingers from his head down his back eliciting a mewled groan.

“ _Vaar’tur_ , sleepyhead.”

“Hmm’s t’early.”

She chuckled at his raw, displeased growl: “If you went to bed earlier … Where have you been anyway?”

“Needed some things get done.”

She felt a slight irk rising: “Evasiveness doesn’t befit you, Tern.”

“I don’t want … There is nothing I’m hiding, just need some time to get some things done.” His gripped on her side tightened and his tone became more pleading: “Please, bear with me. Give me a bit of time.”

Her resigned sight was cut short, his hand trailed from her side and found the soft flesh of her breast as his mouth aimed for the other mound. She knew what he was trying to do. Her fingers latched into his hair and she tugged, slowly building up force. His groan turned into a grunt when the sensation became painful, only then he finally gave in and let off of her.

“No diversion tactics today. What is going on?” Her grip on his hair softened and she smoothened the strand she had been pulling at.

“I can’t tell you, not yet. Let me surprise you, okay?” He was caressing her cheek, then he pushed himself onto his elbow to peer down at her in the darkness.

“I don’t like surprises, they never hold anything good.”

“This one is … that’s what I hope. … And … if you don’t like it, … you can … still … decline.” Each part of his answer he had accompanied with a chaste kiss to her forehead and cheek. Each one, but the last.

He was hovering over her, and suddenly she saw more than just his dark outline, his being in the Force brightly illuminating them both. Her hand on the back of his head began to tremble. He had sounded so confident in the beginning, then it had wavered, insecurity was lacing his words more and more. The bright outline of his essence lost its colouring and, like a candle in a storm, flickered into dullness at his last words.

Adding only a slight pressure she guided him in for a kiss and only when they had to break for a breath she whispered: “I try to be patient and I’m quite sure I will accept what you have to offer.”

She felt his breath fan over her when he huffed: “How about a morning offer?”

His hand was burning on her skin, leaving a trail of fire down to where she wanted him most. A smile played on her lips when his colours flickered softly back to life, brightening once more with his next kiss as he shifted between her legs.

His greens and blues were burning when she mouthed into their kiss: “Give all of you to me.”

She hadn’t even finished when she felt his arm slide down her sides, down her thighs, hooking behind her knees and folding her up in a smooth movement. She succumbed to his colours and spiralling added hers.

Afterwards, his next offer was to bring them breakfast. While they were sitting with their backs resting against each other, she listened to his musings about the progress in and around the cave. When he brought up his wish to see the Boetay she wasn’t surprised. She had wondered herself how the animal was faring. Although she had asked neither Tulata nor her _riduur_ , she was sure that they had cared for the young preditor.

In his eagerness she had to remind him that the tribe might have set up a certain schedule. It sobered him somewhat up, but he promised to find out. As they were soon done with their light meal they made to find the other adults.

Dargak was already finished with his tasks in the small and roughly set up kitchen and on his way outside to inspect the rest of the the pieces of wood which he wanted to craft into the boxes they intended to sell. Bril and Paz were taking down a skin form the frame her father had set up. It was still working properly and she went over to inspect the stiff rawhide. 

Her father came over to her and watched her turning and kneading the skin be fore he simply stated: “You are thinking rather loudly.”

“Hmm. Yes, remember the casket you made for me.”

She looked up at him to see him nodding eagerly and she imagined the grin spreading his lips. He reached out to finger the material, too.

“Yes, this would work for the inlay work. How about you and Tharam set out to the forest and get me some of this wood.” With that he handed her a piece of wood, the distinctive pattern of the bark still attached to it.

“Don’t know what they call it here, so I kept this as reference samples. Means, don’t lose it.”

She opened one of the bags on her utility belt and stored it safely within: “Anything else?”

“Not on my side, but ask Tulata, she might need something for her portions. She’s told me she wants them to add to the list of things we could sell at Ariana.” She handed him the skin and went to find the healer.

Of course she was in the medical area. It was set up nicely, but there were always things to do. She entered while Tulata was tending to one of the older younglings.

“Next time wear your gloves when you train with the wood sticks. The ones we have here aren’t as smooth as the ones we had at the covert.”

“I will, _baar’ur_.” The lanky teenage boy hopped off the cot and bee-lined past her.

With that she was alone with Tulata and the woman started to behave strangly. And if it hadn’t been for the behaviour she could also see it in the flickering colours that surrounded her.

As harmless as the topic was, herbs and plants, the woman became more and more skittish. She watched her wring her hands, busy herself with useless tasks. She watched her roam about the room, here and there, anywhere just not to face her.

She watched her with rising suspicion. Tharam had been late the other night and there were only a handful places he could have been to. Then Tulata seemed to have come to a decision and walked up to her, invaded her personal space. Involuntarily she made a step pack from the dark red helmet that glinted at her.

“You remember what I said about my brother’s commitment?

She stiffened, quickly trying to think ahead where this conversation could lead to. She lowered her head in a careful half-nod.

“I’m sure he’s confirmed his sincerity so far.”

She still couldn’t positively say where this was going, but it made her want more space between herself and the healer. Shifting her helmet ever so slightly she indicated another nod.

She knew that with her unwillingness to discuss this private matter the other woman just had to continue. But she simply couldn’t get it. Their creed told them to keep hidden even among members of a tribe and still there she was, talking about a very personal topic.

“Has he started his courtship?”

A jerk went through her and she couldn’t prevent the sudden reaction of her body.

“What? Has this never idea never crossed your mind?”

Had he actually already started courting her? A voice deep in her screamed at her – _the rose, di’kut_. But did she want to bring it up to his sister?

“I … I didn’t think you would bring it up.”

She noted that their conversation had changed to a dance with words and carefully set body language. And it didn’t sit well with her to feel like his sister could see into her.

“I’m sure you are aware of the importance of the situation. …” 

Of course she was – _ni nayc di’cut_. The weeks of dancing around, though it had been more of a dance on his side, had shown her that he didn’t take this lightly.

“… He has proven himself worthy and he will continue to do so. Even though you were unwilling to indulge me … and he hasn’t been as vague as you … I can vividly imagine the stupid thing he was willing to do … for you ...”

She felt like she had been stabbed. He had been willing to march towards his end with his eyes open.

“ … He will continue … until you accept him.”

Bile rose in her throat and threatened to spill over. Continue to do what – _throw himself into the line of fire_ – _ending like Denx_?

“Will you accept him?”

She felt cornered by the woman in the dark red armour, not only verbally. The healer had also placed herself between her and the only way to exit the chamber.

Maybe she reacted too roughly when she asked if she could finally have the sample of the plants she needed to collect. But maybe she wasn’t harsh enough, as the woman pulled her suddenly in and rested her helmet against hers. She used the first chance to get away

She was still trying to analyse everything and was busy checking on her speeder bike when she heard the bass rumble behind her.

“Are you going on a hunt?”

She didn’t bother to look up at him and continued to check on the speeder: “No, just gathering plants for Tulata and some wood for Dargak.”

She could see it from the corner of her eye. With a sharp inhale the blue armour became rigid, his colours flared indignantly: “Names are not shared outside _aliit_.”

Maybe having been apart for such a long time might not have been helpful, but it didn’t justify him still regarding them as inferior or strangers, or even worse, as _aruetii_.

She felt her own colours spike as the anger rushed through her. In a swift motion she glid around and she punched a fist into his cuirass: “ _Udesii_ , _save trat’aab_! _Vi aliit_! We are _all_ Mando’ade. Behave like it or I’ll _punch_ it into your Bantha-head!”

She had held back, she hadn’t put everything she felt in the punch, but she heard his surprised grunt as he stumbled back a step. But she followed up, aimed lower for the softer padding and punched a relentless hook, aiding it again with the Force.

She no longer had control over her growls: “ _She_ is trying to herd me in. In her eyes I’m more or less already part of the family. _You_ are trying to push me, us away. In your eyes we are less, because we are more liberal!“

Growling she followed again, measured up his askew stance. He had barely regained his ballance. Then she she went for the adductors. Hand tensed, fingers stiff, she stabbed into his weaker leg, just where his thigh was no longer covered in heavy Beskar. He grunted out his pain as his leg gave in. He sank onto his knee.

“If you don’t want us. Say so! We will leave! I can deal with it! … I’ve been unwanted before. Decide until I’m back.”

For a second the colours around him blanked out completely – a flare of desperation, despair. She turned, leaving him kneeling on the ground.

She could see they soon wouldn’t be alone anymore. The commotion had attracted an audience, helmets curiously turned, armoured figure tentatively making their way to them.

“ _Ne’tra verd_ , you can’t leave the _beroya_ …He lo …”

It took her only two steps to gain the momentum she needed to fling herself sidewise against his shoulders, toppling him over and tackling him to the ground. She was out of practice, but she tried nevertheless. A twist of her body, a slight assistance of the Force. One foot went under his armpit, the other flung across his throat, just beneath his helmet, a pull and twist of his arm until his elbow rested against her thigh. Then she applied the pressure, stretching and overstretching his arm.

It was rage and strain that made her snarl: “We’ve got _names_! There are no _aruetii_! Say our _kiffing names_!”

He grunted and tapped out against her leg, but he didn’t say anything. She didn’t force the stretch any more, but she didn’t let go: “Say. It. Who can’t I leave?”

He lingered and she made him cry out when she overstretched his arm further.

“Tharam! You can’t leave Tharam Tern!”

She let go and quickly rolled back over her shoulder, rising to a crouched stand, her eyes never leaving the prone warrior who cradled his arm.

“Your fear of losing another warrior is greater than my wish to stay where I’m not wanted. Been there already and won’t put up with that bullshit anymore! ... You are the _al’verde_ , it is your decision and you will inform me when I come back from the duties I’ve been given.”

She brought more distance between herself and the heavy infantry before she turned and pushed past the gathered members of the tribe, Tern and past her father.

Only when she had reached the speeder Tern caught breathlessly up with her. His fingers curled round her elbow and she felt their tremble.

“W-what … was that? Tell me, please. What is that about … l-leaving?”

Stradling the bike she glanced up at him through her visor. As calm as possible she told him: “Saddle up, we have a task to complete.”

-*-*-*-

He was just leaving the cave, still busy with the gun he intended to take along. When his head lifted he saw the others drawn to a point behind the shuttle. They were nervous and he could hear their agitated voices. Some of the older younglings asking what was going on, Bril ordering someone he couldn’t see to stop. And he saw Dargak, the Zabrak could see what was going on, but he didn’t draw closer like the others. His eyes swept over the gathered people, not many were missing, but he definitely missed the blue armour of the heavy infantry and the pearl black armour of Vayra. Quickly he shouldered his gun and bee-lined to the place of commotion.

Rounding he saw them. Paz was kneeling on the ground and he didn’t know how he had got there. But it was obvious that Vayra had had something to do with it. His HUD systems picked up clearly what Paz was saying in a grumbling tone.

He heard all his words well enough but there was one that stuck out and echoed in his brain – _she wanted to leave_!

It numbed him and desperately his mind raced through the last hours. There wasn’t anything that would have given her a reason to leave. He hadn’t done anything to make her want to leave.

He drew nearer and his eyes went wide at what happened next. She had to be using what the man on Myrkr had taught her, otherwise he couldn’t explain how they ended up in the misshapen T-form, and otherwise he couldn’t explain how she was able to bring his arm into the subduing hold.

Names – she wanted names! She wanted Paz to say his – their names. He was bewildered. No one had used names in the covert, at least not openly, they had learnt to work their ways around them. What had made her lose it?

Any moment he feared to hear the sickening crunching sound as she bent Paz’s arm against its natural postion. He feared for both. He had seen what the heavy invantry was capable of even when wounded, or better despite being wounded.

His heart was pounding in his throat and his ears were ringing with each fast-paced thud. He couldn’t believe that his brother-in-law was giving in, was voicing his name. Every breath seemed to have been punched out from him. Staring he stood with his mouth gaping under his helmet and his mind reeled – _she didn’t wish to stay_!

Her shoulder collided with his, turned him half way around with her, a half step forward saved him from stumbling. In trance he continued to step forward, staring at her back without blinking. The hand on his shoulder that easily stopped him and the low and soothing timbre of her father’s bass helped him to surface.

“We won’t leave that easily. Find out what triggered that.”

He managed to garble out a noise then stumbled with widening strides after her. He clenched his fists to stop the shaking in his hands. If he couldn’t stop the shivers that ran down his back he at least should be possible to gain mastery of the tremble in his hands.

He understood that she wanted to be off, he understood that she didn’t want to talk about it with the others within earshot. But the uncertainty strangled him. He didn’t know about the tasks she was speaking off. When he had talked to the _al’verde_ earlier he hadn’t meantioned anything.

Still not possible to pull himself completely out of the stupor he scrambled behind her onto the bike. He wasn’t sure if she wanted closeness or distance, but she didn’t give him many options anyway by wringing a high speed out of the bike and swerving around the gathered people in a wide circle. Purely out of instinct and self-preservation his arm shot round her waist while he tried to steady himself with his other hand clawed into the frame beneath the saddle.

The noise around them was too loud to make himself audible to her, and he was not that suicidal to let go, either of her or the bike, to reach to his helmet’s settings. He just kept on telling himself that it was good to give her some time of silence to find back to herself. But it was also good to gather his own thoughts, to form his own questions and, if at all possible, to steel himself for what she had to tell him.

Eventually she slowed the bike down a bit. Yet he still kept silent, it was hard, but he wanted to give her the time she needed. When it was safe enough he unfurled his clawed fingers from the bike’s frame and carefully leant in, rested his helmet against her the back of hers.

A deep sigh heaved from his chest when he felt the speeder decelerate even more, a soft pressure on his arm told him that she had clasped hers over his. It was enough to slow his still panicking heartbeat. If she went on putting him through highs and lows like this she was going to be the death of him.

From the corner of his eye he started to recognize where she had steered to speeder bike to and then there was this flash of brown and black stripped something that went along with yipping sounds. He lifted and craned his head and a toothy grin lit his face. The sight made him almost forget what had just happened, just almost.

The Boetay looked much healthier and its form had filled out. He couldn’t see any ribs or hipbones anymore, but the rippling of muscles. Its coat was shiny, nothing reminded of the scruff, agglutinated and dirtied fur, it had started grooming itself again.

Vayra steered the speeder closer to the endge of the forest and stopped it where she had the times before. Until she turned the enging off, the beast was still running and jumping agitatedly around them. Only then it somewhat settled, standing just out of reach, panting and its tongue lolling out between the sharp teeth.

It seemed to expect something. He dug into his utility belt and got out a pack of the dried jerky. In his periphery he saw the red Visor staring at him, but he was already stepping forward. He inched closer and was with in reach when the animal sat down on its haunches.

His heart started to beat faster at the expectant look he received from the Boetay. Its pricked ears seemed restless, but its eyes never left his hand with the ration pack.

“Come.” He lowered his voice and cooed. “That’s good.”

It could practically snatch the pack from his hand. And if his hand was still attached to his wrist after a quick snap he wasn’t too sure of. But when the animal’s head moved along with the movement of the pack he decided to act on his kooky idea.

“Come … down.”

When he slowly sat down crosslegged there was a strangled sound coming from behind him. But he was too focused on the canide in front of him.

“Down … yes, good.”

He had wagered correctly, the lower his hand with the jerky came, the lower the beast’s head went.

“Lie down … good, very good.”

And then it finally did lie down.

Besides the natural sounds from the plain and the forest only the quick thumps of the Boetay’s tail against the ground could be heard. It had a funny way to wag its tail, almost in a circle.

“Now steady.” He kept his curring tone.

He tore the pack open. Even with his helmet on he could smell the dried meat. With a rising nervosity he watched the animal crouch on its stomach closer. But it was now or never. If it decided to snap at him it didn’t matter which way he held the food. Still he decided to keep it covered in his hand.

A hiss from behind told him that someone else did not approve at all.

“Slowly … that’s not all food.”

The muzzle made his hand look small in comparison, but he broke into a broad grin when the animal nibbled tentatively with its incisors the jerky from his hand. He felt its hot breath blow into his palm as the Boetay worked the meat from his hold.

“Yeah, that’s the way. You’re a clever ...”

“Girl, it’s a girl.” Vayra blew out a sigh of relief and her voice was shaky.

One after the other he pulled out the slices of dried meat and fed it to the beast who had come so close that it could lay its large head on his crossed ankles.

There was a grunted snort before he heard her speak again: “I’m glad that there are no other unmarried women around.”

The Boetay was still munching on the last stripe. The first it – she had devoured then she had started chewing longer. His fingers curled under the jaw of the animal and he softly massaged the strong muscles that moved the jaws. The head got heavier and amusedly he noted the fabric of his forearm getting sloppy with drool.

“What do you mean?”

Her giggle was only half amused: “Watching you and your way with women, might have me worried if there were more around. You’d have them all eating from your hand.”

The heat shot instantly into his cheek and warmed his ears.

“I ... It’s …” He didn’t know what really answer to that. Then, and he didn’t know where it came from, a surge of courage shot through him: “Wouldn’t matter as there is only one person I’d eat out …” he lowered his voice to a whisper “… from.”

His flushed face was hidden will when he grinned and made a goofy face at the gulped sound behind him. The mumbling that came from beneath her helmet was too distorted by the vocoder for him to pick up proper words, but she definitely sounded flustered. He wobbled his head and made silly faces beneath this helmet as he cooed to the satiated Boetay in a try to cover his laugh.

There was a rustle and then a shuffling with which the beast’s head come up.

“Slowly.” He kept his voice low, but a soft thumping eased his worry.

When Vayra came to sit next to him she was eagerly sniffed at by the crouching animal and the thumping sound increased.

“She remembers you, I think.”

“That would be incredible. I mean it’s been some weeks since …”

He hummed quietly and kept on caressing the furry brown head. He felt its weight as it leant more and more into him. He almost didn’t feel his legs go numb, just almost. But he was still comfortable. Imperceptibly he rolled his head to look at her. Her posture was definitely not as relaxed as his and although he didn’t want to add to the feeling of unease he wanted to know what he had come to witness.

“Earlier … what was that about leaving, what was going on between you and the _al’verde_?”

She grunted in an angered way. She almost sat unmoving, only her fingers twitched and pinched the leather covering her hands. After a long time he came to the conclusion that she wouldn’t answer him, when he saw her shoulders heave in a dramatic but silent sigh.

“It is just that. You say _al’verde_ and don’t use his name. I can understand that as he hasn’t offered it himself yet. But him calling you _beroya_ although he knows that … And then there was you sister too, just before it. Almost the absolute opposite. It just got too much …”

She turned to look at him and the way her helmet moved up once he knew she wasn’t finished yet, so he gave her the time she needed.

“ _Ni nayc aruetii_. _Ni Mando’ad_. _Kaysh haa’tayl ni dar’manda_.”

He nodded supportively although her words stabbed into him: “Did he say that?”

She shook her helmet while she lowered it. Again she kept quiet for some time. It was long enough that the animal rose its head and sniffed down from her leg to her boot again. She had to withholding a sigh, because only a stuffed and short-cut noise came from her helmet when the Boetay rested her head on her boot.

“No, not with words. It’s more what he doesn’t say. He’s married to your sister and … you and I … we … would it be different if we had already said the vows. Would he even allow it? I mean what if he objects, because we are too different in our ways?”

He reached out and curled his fingers into her waist, tugging softly, gesturing her closer to him. Their forbidding Beskar met and he tried to align best despite the hinderance.

“We … Paz and I talked about that. I have to admit that he was worried that I wouldn’t honour the creed anymore like I do now. But I assured him that you would understand and never ask me to take my helmet off in front of others. He didn’t sound like this didn’t placate him.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Why else do I keep the lights off or my eyes closed.”

His tightened his arm and pressed her even closer to overcome the tightness that slowly crept higher as he thought about how to word his next question.

“Would you really leave?”

His gaze was hard, he didn’t want to miss the slightest change in her posture. Every little movement became suddenly very important.

“I’m not willing to go through something similar like on Ossus. … I just couldn’t anymore … You have been there and witnessed what happened. You have been here too. I wouldn’t deal with him any differently than I had with them. … and now with what happened on Myrkr … it would be worse … to prevent that I would leave.”

A detonator exploding in his guts couldn’t hurt more. She had only spoken for herself – what would that mean for him and even for Dargak? Would he follow her – without a blink. Could he – as _beroya_ he had been one of the providers of the tribe. This hadn’t changed, quite to the contrary.

“W-what … about us?”

The black helmet sank even lower and everything beneath the black armour tensed until slight ripples seemed to run through her body with every heavy breath that she took. He watched her hand reach up to her neck scarf and tug at it as if the fabric were inhibiting her ability to breathe.

“I … can we just talk ab …”

“No, I need to know. What about us? Is it just a diversion? Am I just a distraction?”

“No, of course it’s not. Tern, I just can’t … It’s too dangerous. I shouldn’t have been able to take him down. Just physically I shouldn’t. But I did, and I didn’t even break a sweat. It … it felt powerful … it’s dangerous. He has a way which irks me and that is dangerous.”

A dark chuckle found its way bast his vocal cords: “Yes, you’re not alone there. He has perfected that with some people.”

When she looked at him had to elaborate: “The other _beroya_ and him. Let’s say they have had some interesting run-ins.”

“Oh. I can imagine.”

He still hadn’t got the answer he needed to know: “If this between us is … real … what am I to do? I can’t leave them, they need a provider and I’m the only one. But I can’t just let you go either. What am I going to do? Where do I fit in?”

When she turned to him, he folded his legs under him and knelt before her. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders he pulled her up and close to his chest. She was shaking in his arms and all he could do was holding her as tight as possible.

“I don’t want you to leave. We can work this out. I will talk to him. Please have patience with him, with us. We are still lost and uprooted. It’s what makes him cling to what he knows. Please don’t leave.”

He didn’t care how desperate he had started to sound. If he had to pour out his heart to make her stay he would do so. His voice threatened to give in and went completely hoarse with the panic that surged through him.

“ _Gedet’ye. Ner meshurok. Ner kar’ta_. Give us a chance.”

He felt her helmet move against his shoulder in a tiny nod, he felt her body stretch with his deep inhale and he felt it settle in place as he let it go. His vocoder crackled with the sound he made.

“ _Vor’e._ It will work out. I will make it work out. For us. For all of us. _“_

“ _Vi an Mando’ade_.”

He closed his eyes and concentrated on her, on her body against his, on her breathing. Keeping her close until they both had settled again, but a heavy weight settled on his free shoulder and a loud whine sounded so close to him that he didn’t need the acustic systems of his helmet. The sound wound through the lower lid of the Beskar and reached his ear directly.

His vision had become limited by brown and black fur. He slowly pulled his arm from Vayra and wrapped it round the neck of the beast which had pressed itself against him too. It was warm and sturdy, muscles rippling beneath. It was frightening and becalming at the same time.

“ _Daryc’ika_. Don’t squish me.” He couldn’t keep the chuckle back as he felt the Boetay creep even closer.

“You named her already?”

He chuckled even more at the exasperation in her voice.

“Was the first thing that I saw when I opened my eyes, lots of brown fur. Just hit me as a perfect name.”

She peeled off him and her head tilted to take in the scene, then she shook her head. When she started to laugh he had the feeling that it was not only because of what she saw right then.

“Your _al’verde_ will fly off the handle when you bring her to the caves.”

He joined her laugh at the image, but he could just perfectly see the animal mingling with the tribe. And it would be a nice addition for the younglings too.

“But you know, that is not what we came here for.”

“Yes, true … Down Daryc, down Daryc’ika. We have some things to do before we go home.”

Pulling the canide off him and getting onto his feet was not as easy as he had thought. He had to repeat his command several times and struggle up, before he was able to follow Varya. She had started walking towards the forest without him, though her looks back and her laugh told him that she was still watching closely.

He and Daryc soon caught up with her and he assisted her with getting the plants. He was not as good at recognising the right ones as quickly as she was and he got even more distracted when out of a whim he threw a sturdy stick. Daryc was off in a blink and eager to bring the stick back.

“Huh, Daryc? You have been taught to play fetch?”

He gave up on gathering the greenery and concentrated on their other task of getting the wood for Dargak. In between he occupied Daryc with playing fetch, all the while trying to get her used to commands.

When it got dark they started with the speeder fully loaded back to the tribe, closely followed by the Boetay. He thought it would be more difficult, but the animal just followed them out of the forest and when Vayra started the speeder it ran along with them, even when they left the premises of the forest.

With the beast at the caves some things would change, would need adjusting, but he was sure that it would work out fine. He was even sure that Paz could be convinced in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> riduur: spouse, wife, husband  
> yaim: home  
> al’verde: commander  
> baar’ur: medic, healer  
> save trat’aab: heavy infantry  
> Ruug’la jalyre ramaanar urakto: old habits die hard  
> beroya: bounty hunter  
> Ba’vodu: aunt, uncle  
> Aruetii: strangers; traitor  
> ner aliit: my family, clan  
> aliit: family, clan  
> buir: parent; father, mother  
> Ru kemi miai be verde: walked the way of the warriors  
> K’olar! Nari gar shebs o’r: Come here at once! Move your ass in!  
> ori’vod: big sister, older sibling  
> Gebi bic: Close it  
> Gurire: Off  
> di’kut: idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)  
> Vor’e!: Thanks!  
> vaar’tur: morning  
> Udesii, save trat’aab. Vi aliit : Calm down, heavy infantry. We are family /clan  
> ni nayc di’cut: I’m no idiot  
> Ne’tra verd: Black warrior.  
> Ni nayc aruetii. Ni Mando’ad. Kaysh haa’tayl ni dar’manda: I’m no outside. I’m a Mandalorian. He sees me as someone who has lost his soul.  
> Gedet’ye. Ner meshurok. Ner kar’ta: Please,my precious (one) lit. my gemstone. lit.: my heart; my love  
> Vi an Mando’ade: we are all Mandalorians  
> Daryc: Brown


	43. Green is commitment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a new member or an enemy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might do a song list but then I might do none ... I appreciate that there are some readers out there, I'm sad that actually only one (besides very few other odd comments) lifts my spirits and keeps me going @TheHeartOfAMandalorian, yes I mean you!
> 
> Maybe it's because I'm a shitty writer, maybe it's because it is not about The Mandalorian and only about random Mandos, maybe it is because there is not enough smut or maybe it is because it is too long. I don't know and as there is no feedback I can't change things.

He had seen her more or less storming out of the cave and in hindsight, he could only scold himself for having not anticipated the anger in her stride and posture.

While he slowly sat up and rubbed his hurting arm, he watched her elbowing her way back to her speeder. How had they ended up that far away? It was parked just behind the shuttle round which he had come and now he lay a good distance away in the dirt.

He absentmindedly kept on rubbing his elbow trying to proceed how he had ended up there. He had started with an innocent inquiry and a simple statement, then their conversation had gone sour. He had never said that she was an outsider, he just couldn’t understand her line of thoughts. Of course, they were all Mando’ade – _vi_ _aliit_ – but they were not of the same tribe, least of the same clan. _Couldn’t she understand that this was what he had meant? They were not less because of their liberal way._

Slowly his hand went up to his cuirass where a dull ache reminded him of her first punch. He had to admit it had been tactically well placed, just where the Beskar ended and thus driving the dull end of the metal into his ribs near his armpit. But it should have never made him take a step back, just physically it should have been impossible.

_How could it be that working my way around names – something that we have done for the past years had enraged her so much? Even with members of my tribe it was done, it is done with me. Even if names are known, they are not used and sometimes the names are forgotten again. It is nothing that speaks of the value of a member of the tribe._

His hand trailed down to his upper thigh, the numbing sting still prominent there. It would definitely bruise. It had been a vicious stab and he would definitely remember it, not only due to the numbing pain it caused but also due to its effectiveness.

 _How could she think that she and her father are unwanted? Their different approach of the Creed is probably something we will never agree on, but leaving? No, not with what we all are trying to build. No, not with Tulata’s and my_ khi’vod _, not with him being so devoted to her. For the first time, he seems really happy, for the first time he is in love. Tharam will neither forget nor forgive if she leaves on my account. And neither will Tulata. She has to know how he feels, even if it is only for him, she has to stay_.

The jump at his upper torso had been wicked. Hadn’t it been for the stuns before he might have been able to catch her, to keep his balance. But thus his eyes had widened as he felt himself toppling over, his shoulders connecting harshly with the ground, pressing the air out of his lungs with the added weight.

Fruitlessly he had tried to grab her squirming form to either shover her off or get a hold on her. But the only thing he succeeded in was getting is arm ensnared in her grip. He writhed under the leg that held his head down. Struggling against it made himself suffocate and had him distracted until he felt the strain of his muscles and sinews in his arm.

 _We all have names! But we don’t use them. Not even my family’s names. For safety reasons! As long as I can prevent it … as long it keeps us safe … I won’t use them. Not with Mandalore falling into the Empire’s hands. Not with them having access to the archives since the purge. It puts any surviving_ verd _into danger._ _Every_ _single_ verd _is_ _needed_ _and_ _every_ _single_ verd _needs to remain anonymous for this reason._

The pain had watered his eyes, for once his strength didn’t help him, for once his bulging muscles were more of a hinderance. He had sworn under his breath, for once Tharam had been right about the necessity of stretching, he should have listened better, and the pain had increased. Realisation had hit him hard, she had been in total control. He had been at her mercy, not even tapping out his submission had made her let go of him.

Then he had gone against everything that had been part of his life, of the Creed, when he hadn’t been able to suppress the pain any longer. But the pain was not his alone. For the first time in years, he had said the hunter’s name, his full name. And in the same instance the sting had gone, only the lingering pain had stayed, and her weight had left him.

He still felt relief wash over him, relief that his arm was not permanently damaged, relief that despite all, she hadn’t completely snapped, relief that she was retreating. Then his eyes met the green-blue helmet. It was staring at him, disbelieving, accusingly, stunned, hurt.

_No! Tharam, no! Makers help me! I never wanted this to happen! I don’t want her to leave you. I don’t want you to leave!_

He watched as Tharam’s form was jostled from the impact of her pushing her way past him. And as his _khi’vod_ stumbled past her he scrambled up too. He needed to talk to him. He needed him to talk to her. Cradling his arm, he lengthened his strides to catch up, but again a black armour stopped him in his tracks. It was planted in his way. Again, a black arm pushed against his cuirass, but this time the force behind it was unrelenting. It didn’t come with the impact of hitting a wall in full run, it was more like it slowed and steadied him like a thick liquid would.

“They need their time. Let them sort out their position in the mess you created.”

Floored he stood and watched them take off on the speeder. The Zabrak slowly positioned himself next to him as the watched the speeder get smaller and smaller.

“It’s not a mess. This is the Way.”

He turned towards the black armour.

“When the path forks it is sometimes wise to find a third option.”

He tried to jerk away from the palm plastered against his cuirass. But he stood grounded, his feet all but had taken roots.

_What is this? Why can’t I move? What kind of sorcery is this?_

“If you don’t intend to give up some of the strictness and if we demanded for all the liberty, where would we end up? More split and separated, a fault the Empire knew to use well. It helped them to annihilate us almost completely.”

Straining against whatever it was that held him in his place was hopeless. He growled his frustration at the Zabrak.

“She won’t ask him to join her. She won’t make him choose between his family and his feelings. But whatever his decision will be, it will destroy him in the long run … and her along. … No one can live in two worlds like that. “

The falter in horned warrior’s words was not easy to detect. But it was there. His eyes moved from the red visor along the arm clad in black. It was that he couldn’t move since the black gloves had touched his cuirass. Slowly his brain linked his observation and combined them with the Zabrak’s words and dug out what he had once been taught in the songs of old.

_He! It must be him! No one else is nearby! No one else is paying attention!_

“You … you are a sorcerer, one of the _Jetii_.”

It started to make sense and it made the more sense, what she had been able to do … both were sorcerers, both belonged to the race of enemies. His breath came in heavy gasps. Not a race – they were not of a race – a creed.

He stared at the horned helmet and his breathing faltered when he saw it shaking gravely.

“I would have been worse, much worse.”

_How could anything be worse? How dishonourable can one get, using such a power to gain advantage in a fight?_

He scoffed in disbelieve. But the black helmet lowered threateningly.

“You don’t have to go too far into the lore to find those who were so like the _Jetii_ , yet so unlike them. _We_ have fought with and against both sides. Whereas the Republic of old and the rebels thereafter relayed on the _Jetii_ , the Empire had always found the support of the _Darjetii_.”

“You … you are one of them!”

_Sorcerers, dark sorcerers. The ones the Jetii had fought against. No, we too. An enemy, nevertheless._

He felt anger rise in him. An enemy within their ranks. Two of them! And she had had the audacity to claim to be one of them. But it was not only anger that rose in him. He identified also fear caused by the way with which the Zabrak held him in place, simply by touching him.

_Enemy and a traitor! Why doesn’t he let me go? If he’s so powerful, why doesn’t he just crush me? What’s his intention?_

The black helmet sank, and a frustrated sigh puffed past the vocoder. The black vambrace glistened in the sun as it moved and fell from him. When the Zabrak took a step away from him he was still not able to set one foot in front of the other. The red visor lifted again and for a moment gazed in his direction.

_What do you want, aruetii? What are you waiting for?_

When the helmet turned to regard the others, who were still staring after the vanished speeder, he had made up his mind. His feet might be frozen, his hands were not.

_If you don’t make your move, I will!_

He went for the knife in his belt. It glistened in the light, the sparks its humming blade elicited from the black cuirass were brighter than the still-rising sun. It cut into the fabric and went beneath.

_Gotcha!_

The inches were not enough, but he felt he was frozen in place, even more than before.

_What? No!_

Now he was not even able to move a single finger. The red visor zeroed in on him again, strong fingers clasping over his hand, pressing the handle of the knife into his palm. And where he couldn’t move an inch the Zabrak easily peeled his arm back, slowly extracting the embedded knife with his almost tender motion.

“You are looking in the wrong direction for enemies.”

_I’m looking in the right direction, at a sorcerer, an aruetii, an aru’ela. Now do what your kind does. Finally kill me and show your true face!_

He had never felt that helpless as when he watched his reddish glistening vibroknife being taken from him. The hands of the horned man carefully held his wrist and untangled the blade from his grip, not unsimilar to a parent making sure their little one was not playing with something harmful.

Powerlessly he felt himself guided towards the fallen tree. His feet stepping out as if of their own will. The weight that bore down on him and made him sit down had an irresistible urgency to it.

“ _Ni_ _Mando’ad_ _emuur_ _gar_. _Aliit ori’shya tal’din_. I might be born on Iridonia, I might have been taken from my family there before I could remember them, I might have been trained for the coming thirteen years at the academies. …”

_Darjetii – aru’ela – aruetii_

He stared up at the man who was still holding the bloodied knife. Now that it was switched off, he could see where the crimson stains were and guess how deep it had gone in.

“But it was my decision only to not follow the path they had decided for me. It was my decision to not become their instrument of hate, destruction and chaos. It was my decision to no longer be the Apprentice Draztis. …”

_aru’ela – aruetii_

Nothing seemed different in the posture of the sorcerer standing in front of him. Critically he inspected the dark cloth where the blade had ripped it.

“At almost seventeen and with all the training I might have been able to resist more when the _Mando Cabure_ found me, but I couldn’t and I didn’t …”

_Did you deceive them too?_

Transfixed he followed the fingers in black leather as they swiped the crimson off the blade, flicking the droplets into the grass between his spread legs

“I might have been too old for a foundling but found I was, even if it was more dead than alive. I might have been too old for adoption but adopted I got, nevertheless. The Creed I swore nevertheless, Mando’ad I am, nevertheless. Regardless of what has been before or what I’m still capable of – _Cin_ _Vhetin_!”

_This is too easy … this can’t be tr… … … This is the way._

The blade was carefully placed between two gloved fingers and pulled through, from hilt to tip. He found he could still not move out of his own volition, he could only watch as the Zabrak bent over him and shove the knife back into its sheath.

“The training I received might not have been as long as that of the other Mando’ade, but it brought me to the fighting corps, nevertheless. And I have fought with them … on Mandalore, on Concordia … and I would have died with them.”

_He’s been there … this can’t be … so few made it from there._

The red visor tilted and stared at him from a distance which was much too close for his taste.

“I was quite willing so. Had I not gained a spark by finding Vayra, I would have sought to follow my _aliit_ … my _buire_ , my _vod_ and my _riduur_. Only I had been spared by fate, once again. But it was for her that I continued and still do, to this very day.”

_His aliit … like all his aliit …his riduur … The Zabrak had been married?!_

He could hear the puff speaking of pain when Dargak straightened again.

“It had only been two years of me knowing a family before they were taken. And it had only two years of me having sworn the Creed when I became a _buir_. We had to travel, to run and hide and to fight and she was barely more than a toddler when I had to go on hunts. We were vagabonds on the search for the others for almost five years before my last hunt led me to Felusia.”

_This sounds like … He is … like Din! Makers keep him safe! We should have left a message in case he returns._

He was no longer the centre of Dargak’s attention. His gaze went to the distance somewhere behind his back.

“It was definitely no life for a youngling. It was lonely and dangerous. I remember days that turned into nights when I just waited for her to fall asleep before I could tend to myself. Never should she get the feeling that I would fail her, leave her stranded.”

_Like now … but she is not here … what are you trying to prove, Kryban?_

His eyes followed the way Dargak absentmindedly wrapped his arms around himself. And it was not lost on him how his hand clutched tightly over his torn suit.

“Rumour had it that some Mandalorians had made it there. But they weren’t there anymore, and it was only by accident that I found them on Ossus. And what we have built there, your _beroya_ has seen for himself. Only it was not enough. Sometimes I wonder if she had been happier if we had just gone on without the others.”

_Maybe I should have listened better to him back then. My first failure as a leader. But what if we …_

Again he was in Dargak’s focus, but oddly he no longer felt the need to squirm away.

“Thrice what was meant to be her home had been torn from her, once she left what hadn’t become a home for her. With Th – him she has found a reason to call this home and she might be able to find it here. … We both might be. But you have to allow it to happen.”

_He doesn’t use his name … hasn’t Tharam shared it … ok, I get it._

His eyes were steady on Dargak’s gloved hand. It hadn’t taken long for the dark liquid to ooze between the leather-clad fingers and he felt remorse at his rashness.

“She doesn’t ask for much, just for you to use names when we are among ourselves. Are we less than a tribe … as we are now? Wouldn’t she be part of the tribe, of the family when they say the vows?”

_Of course, she would be part of the family … less? … are you? … no._

Though Dargak said was worded softly, was chosen carefully, he felt like if each word were a punch. They were so few, each loss would dire their situation even more.

_No nothing. This I have to admit, you have done actually nothing makes you an enemy … you held up well in our fight, Liom took to you and you are a provider as well as a protector …_

“I can feel … her desperation, and it’s … excruciating. She is so used to not having a place to belong to … that she would rather leave … than putting up for anything else that feels … less, for merely being … tolerated.”

_No one should just be tolerated … that was not my intention … I only wanted to protect the Creed, our way._

He felt the limitation his limbs had experienced recline, tentatively he flexed his fingers and wriggled his toes. Dargak needed to take breaths between his words, his strength was waning. He started to worry that he had got him better than he had first thought.

_How long do you want to keep this up? I can see you holding up by a thinning thread._

He slowly nodded at the man in front of him. He was still overwhelmed with the revelations Dargak had let him participate in. Only with the gesture, he worded his thanks that he had been told so much about their past.

_Verd … you have come a long way. … maybe we should walk the way to come together … at least I can try to … Kriff this is not easy! First, I need to get him to Tulata!_

There was much to think about, but more important was to get Dargak’s wound treated. He told himself that he wasn’t afraid of Vayra’s reaction, that he was only doing his duty as the _al’verde_. Quietly he cursed himself and his lacking ability to live up to his role and he yielded to the feeling that had risen. His initial concern that it might not be his own but evoked by the sorcerer in front of him had subsided. It was his feeling, he might have been made to listen to the Zabrak, but Dargak’s disclosure of his, of their history, had him convinced. The Mando’ad with the horned helmet was indeed a _verd_ and a _vod_.

“ _N’eparavu takisit_. I should have been more considerate … and listening.”

The nod of the horned helmet seemed tired.

“ _Vod_!?” He tasted the word on his tongue, and it felt good. “Let me take you to the heal … my …” He had to collect himself before he started anew: “ _Vod_ , let me take you to …Tu … Tulata so she can treat the wound.”

He rubbed his hands along his thighs, even beneath the leather of the glove they felt sweaty. He used the movement to press himself up to a standing position. A wry smile tugged at his lips as he hoped that the first motion had gone unnoticed. But it faltered when he looked at the man standing in front of him.

_What’s wrong with him? I haven’t got him that deep …_

“ _Vod_? Kry … Dargak?” His heart thumped speedily against his cuirass. He repeated his inquiry louder and this time the horned helmet came sharply zooming in at him.

“What? … Sorry … _Vor’e_. It is just a scratch.”

“Bleeding fairly freely for just a scratch. She will do more than just almost unhinge my arm when she gets to know about it. So, let’s get this treated.”

It got him a chuckle, but he was able to lead Dargak back to the cave. He didn’t wonder much when Tulata was already waiting for them, waiting with a silvery tray on which the assortments for treatment were laid out.

_Maybe we do need to find the third way of the fork. On Nevarro we have never looked out for other Mando’ade, we’ve never searched for other survivors. We need to find more and if we do, we need to find a way to arrange ourselves. Best we start small, with him and his daughter … Kryban … Vayra and Dargak Kryban._

-*-*-*-

She did her best to keep the heavily loaded speeder in balance. More than once she had to scold Tern to stop swivelling and looking for the Boetay. Again and again, he turned in the seat as the animal ran around them. Sometimes it galloped a few paces ahead, then it trotted behind them, or it ran alongside.

She could understand his nervousness and excitement. After all they didn’t know how the animal and the tribe would react to each other. And above all, they had to convince the _al’verde_ , a task she feared to be the more difficult after the dispute-gone-physical she had had with him.

She promised to her herself that it would be her to try to convince him. Tern wanted the carnivorous pup, so it would be his duty to spread the news. She had other things to no look forward to, having _her_ conversation with the heavy infantry. The possible outcome caused by the _al’verde’s_ stubbornness made her guts tie in knots.

And the hands splayed widely on her hips didn’t help to put her at ease. The closer she got back to the cave the tenser she grew and the man behind her sensed it. She could feel his thumbs rubbing against the padded, unarmoured area on her side in the hope to help her calm.

She was relieved when she saw no one outside, but it also made her wonder where everyone was. Arms snaked around her waist and his helmet pressed between her shoulder blades.

“Wait here. Let me talk to him first.”

She nodded and when he had vanished into the cave, she let go of her inhale she felt like a rock slid off of her. But it didn’t last long. The time stretched and nothing happened. The Boetay seemed to have got bored too after sniffing around the immediate area, inspecting the shuttle and one or the other place where the tribe lingered when outside. When it had got the scents into its nostrils, it seemed to relax enough to seek her company.

Absentmindedly she scratched behind the large animal’s ears. The weight on her thigh increasing more and more with the animal lying its broad head on it, a wet patch widening distinctively where its flews connected with the fabric of her flightsuit. The low growls soothed her somewhat and helped her to pass the time.

A loud command in a distorted bass and agitated tenor and soprano squeals announced the end of her waiting time. Her hand curled into the beast’s neck and the thick fur there. A soft whine told her to not grip that tightly.

“Stay, Daryc!”

Warily she watched the bulky blue armour and its bearer approach. Behind him the younglings were lined up at the entrance of the cave. Her eyes grew hard when she saw both maroon warriors keeping Tern behind them and aiming their rifles in her direction.

She knew she wasn’t the target, yet her slanted eyes twitched in anger. Cumbersomely she nudged the speeder askew, bringing it and herself between the rifles and the Boetay.

“You are very protective over the beast.”

“She poses no danger, as you should have learnt while you tended to her for the … Tern.” She had waited, she had fought with herself whether to say his name or not, but defiance got the better of her and she awaited the warrior’s reaction.

“And I’m protective over the younglings.”

She kept her helmet tilted upwards, not wavering, just like he had continued unwaveringly.

“She will accept and protect them. She wants a tribe, a pack. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have sought our attention as she had.”

“I will keep an eye on it. If it harms any youngling ….”

“Daryc. Her name is Daryc. She won’t harm them once she gets to know them.”

She slowly let go of the fur and scratched the neck she had held tightly. Sliding her hand over the Boetay’s shoulder she still held her to her side. The heavy infantry stood close enough that Daryc could stretch her neck and sniff at his thigh.

“How will you ensure that?”

“Let her get to know them one by one. And teach the younglings how to treat her.”

“And who do you want to start with?”

They both looked back towards the entry where everybody seemed to pile behind the Rulls. Watching the helmets of the adults and the bare faces of the younglings she came to a decision.

“Dargak and Liom.”

A disapproving grunt came from the blue helmet: “Make it Dargak alone first.”

There was no use opposing him over this and she called out for her father who immediately stepped forward. He easily strode over, but she still saw that his strides were not as wide as normally. Tenderly she stretched her colours and reached out and brush against his protective shield. He kept it up and she narrowed her eyes at the heavy infantry.

“What happened?”

His helmet swung over and down to her: “Hmph. Nothing. Worked it out.”

“Uh-hu. Sure.” She knew better than to press with the other problem at hand

As her father slowly came closer, she eased her hand from the Boetay: “ _Daryc. Ibic ner buir, kaysh aliit_.” She gave Daryc a pat on her rump and encouraged her to step forward, to sniff her father’s scent.

Carefully she watched the canine, her posture, her ears and her tail. Daryc seemed relaxed, sniffing eagerly up and down Dargak’s legs while rounding his body. Her tail started slowly first, a soft wag. But when she had rounded him her muzzles rose higher, scenting along his abdomen.

He was wearing the same outfit during her encounter with him and she realized that Daryc was smelling her on him.

“Can you keep her occupied? Pet her and give her some of these.” She slipped some of the jerky stripes into Dargak’s waiting hand.

“What are you up to?”

“Scenting up the others. She smelled me on you and that helped her to accept you.”

She didn’t know what to do with the adults, but she was sure the children wouldn’t have any problems with a quick hug or rubbing their arms along hers. But when it came to the Rulls, Tern and his sister had to help her. It didn’t matter who, as the Boetay knew both.

Gazing back now and then she made sure Daryc was still more preoccupied with the dried meat. And when she explained her plan to the others, Liom was the first one thing fling himself at her. She couldn’t help herself but amidst all the affectionate hugging she glanced back towards the heavy infantry. Her smile faltered when she saw his lowered and tilted helmet, it screamed disapproval at her.

Grabbing Liom’s hand she made her way back. The man in the dull blue armour stood stark and stiff and it wasn’t lost on her how his hand hovered over his holster. She kept Liom between her legs so that he couldn’t tumble back and when he placed his small hand in hers, she stretched them out towards the already waiting Boetay.

“Liom, this is Daryc. If all goes well, she will stay here.”

Her sigh of relief cracked in the vocoder. The young animal took immediately a liking and had Liom cackling in delight as he was sniffed all over. His yelp was loud with Daryc decided to scent him in her own way, her long tongue darting out and flapping over his round face.

“No worries, we get you washed afterwards.”

Liom was quick to shake his head: “It just tickled. May I touch her?”

“Sure. Here, just behind her ears, she likes that very much. And give her a piece of the jerky.”

After she had handed Liom the dried meat and made sure that Daryc didn’t get too greedy, she glanced back towards the cave’s entrance, both Terns were already waiting to send the next youngling.

She was glad to see that also the Rulls had relaxed enough to lower their weapons and simply watched as one youngling after the next was introduced to and accepted by the Boetay. With each youngling smiling and laughing, with each one digging their hands into the thick striped for, with each content purr and happy tail-wagging she felt more and more relieved.

A feeling that peeked when finally, the Rulls joined the group and were also greeted as part of the family by the tall beast. But it took a bit, they didn’t smell that intensely. For them, it had been Tulata’s and Tern’s task to bring their scent onto them, and she could have laughed hard when she watched the awkwardness with which it took place.

“Well done, Daryc. Good girl!” She ruffled the mane and hand the Boetay the last piece of jerky.

“With so many treats I don’t think that she is hungry anymore.” Tern joined her affectionate cuddles.

“Probably not. But just in case, we do have enough meat to feed her, don’t we?”

She was slightly concerned that their rash decision held more predicaments than anticipated, but her father assured her quickly.

“So, you really want her to join the tribe? Just like that?”

She swiftly turned towards the heavy infantry. Studying him she tilted her helmet. He had obviously looked after the animal during their absence. Understanding why he saw now a problem was beyond her.

“That’s why we treated her wounds and kept her fed. And even you joined in these tasks, I presume by the good state she is in.”

Her mouth thinned as she clenched her teeth. For once she was glad that the helmet hid her expression, which might have angered the _al’verde_ even more.

“Didn’t know that you would bring her in like that … so soon.” His gesture was a vague swept over the gathered tribe.

“Why? Where is the problem? There is enough game to keep her fed. We can train her to join the hunts. She will keep an eye on the younglings. And …”

“You don’t think that I will let them be around the beast unguarded.”

She didn’t like how his voice rose.

“Open your eyes or is that slit in your _buy’ce_ too small. They get along well. Of course, we will have to teach especially the younger ones how to behave around her.”

“Leave my _buy’ce_ out of that! I can see well enough and I see a still wild animal among our smallest ones!”

“ _Udesii_! Both of you!” Her father literally positioned himself between herself and the heavy infantry.

She took a step to the side to see the broad man again: “Are you so dense on purpose or is it your kink to rile others up with it?”

She smirked at the warning growl: “It’s not the first wild animal I have tamed. And besides that, it is already half tame and clever. As was born in captivity it will be much easier to acquaint it with our life.”

The heavy infantry was also moving: “Then it must be cleverer than you.”

“At least she is a tribe’s member whose name you can say without losing your _shebs_ , _mirsheb_.”

“ _Gev_! _Di’kute_! You …,” Dargak turned towards her. “Be rational in your explanation, I taught you better than that.”

Then he turned towards the heavy infantry: “And you! Stop your insults, too and start listening.”

“Do you think you are in a position to order me around, Zabrak?” She watched as the blue pauldrons heaved upwards and she tensed into a crouch.

The loud wail startled them all. Daryc had risen from her haunches and was stalking around them, walking a perfect circle with the three of them in the middle. The raised fur on her neck made the Boetay look even taller, her head and tail were held low, she wagged slowly, a constant whimper escaping her muzzle.

It froze them all, the youngling fled behind the Terns and Rulls, who rose their rifles instantly.

“See! It is dangerous!” Triumph laced the _al’verde’s_ words.

“See what? That she is trying to divert the tension? Learn to read her body language!”

Dargak’s voice was quiet: “She is right. Lower your voices, relax and she will calm down again.”

“I won’t accept anything here that endangers the tribe.”

She breathed several times deeply, the leather of her gloves creaked under the strain. This man was not only headstrong, he was straight pig-headed. When she rose her gaze to the dark visor again, all of a sudden, she had the notion that this was no longer about the Boetay.

“Am I a …”

“Vayra!” Her father’s black armour filled visual field. She hissed at him.

“ _Al’verde_. Would you please ask everybody to go back inside? Tharam can take care of Daryc, she will follow him. I’d like no one, but the three of us to work this out.”

She shifted her weight onto one foot and crossed her arms. And waited for the order of the al’verde. A nod at the members of his tribe had them retreat, some more reluctant than others. While she worried her lip with her teeth, she watched the bulky warrior.

“Kryban, she can’t come here like that and bring a potential danger with her. You saw how easily it was aggravated. We adults can defend us. But there is only so many of us. For the younglings, this huge animal is dangerous.”

Something had to be wrong with her audio-systems. Had she heard correctly? The reclusive, mostly silent and zealous protector of the Nevarro’s tribe’s creed had actually used a name to address her father!?

“It was aggravated, yes, but easily calmed. And it was our own fault. She would make a perfect peacekeeper between you two firebrands. With her around, you couldn’t be at each other’s throats.”

Her jaws hurt from clenching her muscles. She had set an ultimatum, and so far, the heavy infantry hadn’t addressed it and as she saw it, he was obviously inclined to pass over it. Quietly she waged a war within whether she should bring it up. Daryc could be a peacekeeper, but her service wouldn’t be needed, if she left as she had threatened.

She knew she was edging him again, but it was something she couldn’t let go. At least not in the nonchalant way the heavy infantry seemed to have set his mind to.

“Her service won’t be needed on my account any way. You certainly remember what I said. I won’t stay, if unwanted.”

“Vay, please!” She feared her teeth might crack at her father’s begging tone.

“No. I can’t. Not after Vas and Tiani. You’ve seen what I have done to them. You know what I’m capable of. In the end, it is more for his own safety.”

When no one of the men moved, she added more quietly: “I won’t ask no one to leave for my sake. If you want to stay here, I’m fine. If you want to return to Ossus, I will take you there.”

A movement at the cave’s entrance distracted her for a moment. Without venturing closer, Tern was standing as a speck of colour against the darkness. His whole body spoke of tension. The way his fists were balled, the way his shoulders hunched up, even his stance. Everything of him told her that he was nervous about the outcome.

Then the Nevarro’s bass brought her attention back to him: “First of all, I want you to hear me out. Can you do that?”

Her eyes flickered towards her father. A soft inclining motion was the only obvious reaction she got. But there was more, a sentiment of calmness and support softly nudged at her. It was similar to what she had sensed him doing on Myrkr.

The air of her lungs escaped audibly through her mouth before she nodded.

“I know how you were able to subdue me. I know how he … Kryban was able to keep me frozen when I wanted to go after you. I won’t hide that I have trouble to accept sorcerers such as you are.”

Everything in her itched. Her heart rate had spiked. She wanted to spit at him, scream at him, claw at him, attack him. Her father’s head slowly shook from side to side. The sentiment pressed against her with more force, trying to inject more calmness.

“Yet, I can’t deny what both of you have done for the tribe. I can’t change my ways easily, but I see the necessity. I can’t promise that I won’t fall back into old habits. But for the sake of the tribe, and more specifically for the sake of the _ber_ … of him, I will try.”

He eyes follow the nod of the blue helmet towards Tern standing at the cave’s entrance. Her voice was quiet as she revealed: “Officially I know him by Tern. That is what Tulata has used. That is what we have agreed on so far.”

By the tiny movements, which the otherwise still heavy infantry was not able to control, she could guess the struggle within the man. A twitch of his fingers, a shift of his hips and jerk of his helmet, all minuscule indications of the fight inside.

She had jarred him by using the names of his _aliit_. But she wouldn’t give in, her helmet lowered, and shoulders drawn up she waited. The blanket of calmness that her father was casting, did only help so much. For the rest, she needed her own will, to neither push the tall man nor to storm off towards her ship.

“Jate. It will only happen here, in and around the cave, and never with _aruetiise_ around.”

She nodded, she had never asked more. She had used her own alias, and she had heard her father coming already up with one for Tern. These would be for when they were not among themselves. But when with the Mando’ade this impersonal addressing would not do. There was only one thing she was waiting for, and it was up to him to give it to her – his name.

-*-*-*-

He brought Kryban to Tulata to patch up his side. His plan had been to not get into her way and just wait for her harangue later in their quarters. What he hadn’t anticipated was, that she made him treat the Zabrak. It made them both uncomfortable. They both tried to find excuses.

“ _Cyare_ , what are asking of me. I’m not a healer. I only know to crudely patch up.”

_Kriff, is that her way to punish me for my mistake?_

“ _Baar’ur_ , I’m definitely able to patch up a scratch. If you hand me some patches and disinfectant, I'll just do it my quarters.”

_Hmm, even he is feeling uncomfortable about it. Bet, he knows how to patch up better than I do._

“Oh no, neither of you is getting out of this the easy way. If you decide to carve up each other then you will help each other getting patched up again. Stop the growling, you two. _Riduur_ , help him remove the armour.”

“Leave me. As long as I can stand, I can take off my armour myself.”

_He is still quite fast. It’s not like I haven’t offered. Now she will let me off it, maybe._

“Sit down, it’ll make treatment easier.”

_Oh Kriff, he might be able to stand but he is definitely somewhat stiff on the side. Though he is good at hiding._

“Wait. I can at least help with getting the suit down.”

“If you must. It’s enough. No need to pull it off all the way.”

“And how do you think he is supposed to reach your side. The top comes off, no discussion. I don’t care how you barely treat yourselves in the field. In here everybody gets proper treatment.”

 _I just knew it! The tattoos don’t end up there. But,_ haran _, if they are all over his body … that’s some amount of ink and time. Makes me wonder when he got them and who did them. He makes quite a canvas._

_He’s got power under these muscles, and he’s fast. I couldn’t block his moves last time. Has he used his sorcery back then already? It didn’t feel like it. But why didn’t he, would have spared him the broken clavicle._

_They both started doing that thing ever since they came back from the hunt. Something must have happened then. Will he give me the truth when I ask him?_

“ _N’eparavu takisit_. At least I didn’t cut you too deeply. Should heal nicely.”

 _This tiny scratch will hardly be seen among all these others. It’s not like that it’s his first scar. That’s quite some gruesome collection. How the hell did he … oh … maybe before he got his_ bekar’gam _. He did mention something … about almost dying … the wounds to several of these scars could have resulted in his death_

“Please lift your arm, rest it on my shoulder Get working, _riduur_ , here, that’s to clean the cut.”

Following her instructions, he did his best to patch the other warrior up and only when she hummed contently with his work, she had him help him back into his suit and armour.

“Get some rest while you can.”

He was barely done when Skilla and Ardill required his attention. With a sigh, he remembered he had promised to supervise their training. He took his duty seriously and by the time they were done he had two complete sweaty and exhausted younglings who only wanted to rush off to the shower. He let them go as his gaze fell onto a figure waiting at the entrance of the side-cavern which led to the roughly set up gym.

_Tharam is back?! But why is he alone? Has she left already, or is she still outside? She hasn’t even tried to find me!_

“You are back. Has she calmed down?”

Tharam gave him a shrug: “No. And, by all means, she is right. I’m not talking about their way to show their faces. But, Paz, if we treat her and her father like any other outsider she can just as well leave us here and walk her own way. This would mean for you, three two less _verde_ and no ship, no shuttle, no speeder.”

The younger warrior made quietly and calmly clear that he wouldn’t stay behind on Garos if she left.

_Tharam! What … you can’t mean this seriously! I won’t allow that. This is not the way!_

It took him only a few steps to hover in the private sphere of his _vod_. Only his palm on his cuirass stopped him.

_Damn you, Kryban! You are not going to take him from his tribe! We – I can’t lose him!_

“But this isn’t why I’ve been looking for you, al’verde. I need you to come out with me. The Boetay – she followed us, and we have brought her back with us.”

“You have what? It’s a predator! You can’t …”

“ _Gedet’ye_. Come out with me.”

He was still swearing under his breath when he pushed through the gathering tribe.

_Friggin’ hell! Do they all have to be here?_

“Everybody, wait here! No one will advance further! This is not a toy, but a wild animal! Bril! Fina! Guard them!”

 _Whose kriffin’ idea was that. Tharam, I will have your_ shebs _for this stunt. And this woman! Is she actively putting herself in the line of fire? I can’t believe it!_

_Ok, ok, draw a breath, calm down! No neat to start this getting heated._

“You are very protective over the beast.”

 _No danger? Heck! Woman! It’s not fully grown yet and reaches up to my hip! No matter how_ tame _it was when I fed it. It was taller than some of the younglings – they are just a snack for this beast._

“And I’m protective over the younglings.”

_Protect – my arse! You will so pay for it Kryban if anything befalls the younglings._

“I will keep an eye on it. If it harms any youngling ….”

_If it – she wants a pack how will she know that we are its pack now? - - Oh – It – she remembers me, it seems._

“How will you ensure that?”

_Getting to know all, not before you prove it. But who to test it on … yes … your father, but him alone, as a first._

“Make it Dargak alone first.”

 _How can she so observant, he’s not even limping?_ Haar’chak _!_

“Hmph. Nothing. Worked it out.”

_Gods above! Can we work on one thing after the other! – Oh – curious – does it smell the blood, but then it wouldn’t wag like that, would it?_

_Scenting up the others? Woman! What do you want to …? What are you …? You and your ideas! – But they all seem so eager -- -- Kriff if this doesn’t work …! I’ll snap both your necks – first the beast’s then your’s, Kryban! -- -- How does she know so much about this beast. There is no way that she could have known that it will work out!_

“So, you really want her to join the tribe? Just like that?”

_Kriff! I’m getting too old for that many changes in such a short time. Will there ever be a time where I do not have to adjust. Tharam, you will definitely answer to me for that! Couldn’t you have just talked to me BEFORE …!_

_Having that beast around the younglings – can ask some Troopers to watch over them as well – wouldn’t be that different! Even if they get along now, what if …and_ HARAN _– woman! Start already something that I will have an excuse …_

“ _Udesii_! Both of you!”

“Are you so dense on purpose or is it your kink to rile others up with it?”

_Not even your father can tame you – how will you tame that beast then? You think you have everything under control with your sorcery. This is all a great stupidity!_

“ _Gev_! _Di’kute_!”

_Did he just?! – You are not doing this again, Zabrak! This time it won’t end with just a scratch! -- -- I knew it – this kriffing beast! Good the Rulls have it in their targets. Leave the two of them to me! -- -- This beast doesn’t belong with the tribe. It’s too dangerous. Just like you and your father._

“ _Al’verde_. Would you please ask everybody to go back inside?”

_Why does he have to interfere? Kriff, is he doing this sorcery of his again?_

Please - Gedet’ye

_Is it only to calm the beast? He has to see the dangers, he can’t be that blind! And why does she have to bring it up now! Can we, fucking please, talk about one problem after the other! This is driving me insane! Haar’chark! Tern! Go back inside. I don’t need you hovering there! I need to do something. Get thinking! Fuck! Think! I need time!_

“First of all, I want you to hear me out. Can you do that?”

Thank you - vor’e

_He is doing it, I can feel it. But it’s different. What is it that he is doing?_

_She is listening, good. Gods! When will I get used to hearing anyone using names? This is charring! But I don’t want to lose a single vod anymore. And especially not him. Tulata would never forgive me if I sent – drove her brother away!_

“Jate.”

His heart was thundering in his chest. He had come to love to hear Tulata saying his name, he knew it meant to catch his attention when Tharam used it, rarely as it was. He himself hadn’t said his name in years.

His first try made him cough. He knew there was no way around it.

_They have become aliit – it is not against the way to share your name with your aliit. Without them, we wouldn’t have survived Nevarro. No, she won't abuse it. She has kept Tulata’s and Tharam’s._

His voice broke again: “Viz …” He needed another breath. “Vizsla, Paz Vizsla”

_Haar’chark! Haar’chark! Haar’chark!_

-*-*-*-

 _Paz Vizsla_ – _Vizsla_ the name sent a chill through his veins. Shocked he immediately retreated his steading force before it could morph into something else. He had to tell himself several times to not jump to conclusions, to keep calm himself.

Before he realized what he was doing he was running his hand across his face, wiping away the stray droplet of sweat that had broken out. His head came up with a swing and he opened his eyes again, desperately trying to keep the most neutral expression he could muster.

But he knew himself. The way the corner of his eye twitched, the way the muscles in his jaw worked. He was doing a bad job.

“Vor’e, vod … Vizsla. Now that is over, I will find a place for our new company and then I will get some rest. We all should. Vay, as you are staying, you best inform your … Tern.”

There must be a logical explanation – Tern – Shae Vizla he had said. It would be too much to ask the hulking man more. Not now, maybe never.

Black covered in red, covered in grey.

Blue covered in red, covered in grey.

He just needed time to comprehend, to think, to understand.

“Come, Daryc, come with me.” He cooed at the animal and ruffed her head, making her follow him.

The others could do without him. He had to preoccupy himself with tasks that would keep him from spiralling. The steady movement of the fluff of fur next to his side helped him. It followed him while he was searching for an old blanket, it accompanied him when he searched for a place where Daryc could lie without being in the way.

Finally, he found a small recess not too far from the entrance. If one of her tasks was to protect the tribe, this would be a perfect place. As she was still following him around although he had shown her to her new place, he decided to go to the kitchen area and prepare some caff.

With the mug in his hand, he went back to the recess and sat down, patting the old blanket and cooing at Daryc until she lay down. He hadn’t realised that everything had taken up quite an amount of time. The others were no longer outside and as everything was quiet, he was sure that he would be able to retreat to his quarters soon too.

He waited until the Boetay was sleeping in a tight curl of sleep. Whispering assuring and praising words he rose and ventured to his alcove room. He didn’t think that he’d be asleep too soon, he would be able to hear or even see if Daryc got restless. He couldn’t imagine that he would be out that soon.

He was awake with a start the bass hissing at him in a hoarse voice had him wide awake in an instant. He didn’t know why Vizsla was in his room, but it was something about the Boetay – the beast as he still named Daryc. He scrambled up and strode to her blanket – empty.

A quick search outside brought them up void of a Boetay, but he had an idea and tapped at his temple: “HUD. Search for tracks.”

Vizsla reached up and went back into the cave before he could react. The man’s strides lengthened, and he heard the man swearing. The only thing he could do was rushing after him, but Vizsla had had a head start on him.

He caught up with the Nevarro warrior who had drawn his blaster. Their destination had become clear, it was the nursery where all younglings were gathered.

With the bulky man in front of him, he couldn’t see what made him stop dead in his tracks. He had to push him out of the way to gain access through the narrow entrance.

A sigh of relief let his shoulders sag: “I told you they would get along. I’ll get her blanket, now that she has decided where she wants to stay at night.”

A smug grin was plastered on his lips all the way back and forth. And when he re-entered the nursery, nothing had changed. Instead of in their beds, all younglings had gathered their mattresses and coverings in the middle. Amongst a heap of small bodies, a mountain of brown fur with black stripes lay snoring softly. Small arms and legs were thrown over the animal and to its neck clung Liom’s small form.

“If you want, I can stay and keep an eye on them.” He kept his voice to a low whisper, rich in its fondness.

Even as he only got a grunt for an answer, he folded the blanket next to the wall and sat down. Smiling at the peaceful scene he thought that he might be able to catch some sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> khi’vod: little brother  
> Jetii: Jedi  
> Darjetii: Sith  
> Aruetii: strangers; traitor  
> aru’ela: enemy  
> Ni Mando’ad emuur gar. Aliit ori’shya tal’din: I’m Mandalorian like you. Family is more than blood.  
> Mando Cabure: Mandalorian Prototectors (manifold police group, I might use it not according to canon)  
> cin vhetin: fresh start, clean slate - lit. white field, virgin snow - term indicating the erasing of a person's past when they become Mandalorian, and that they will only be judged by what they do from that point onwards; like the *first turn of the screw cancels all debts* for sailors.  
> aliit: family, clan  
> buire: parents  
> vod: brother; comrade, mate  
> riduur: spouse, wife, husband  
> buir: father, parent  
> beroya: bounty hunter  
> N’eparavu takisit: sorry (lit: I eat my insult)  
> verd: warrior, soldier  
> Vor’e!: Thanks!  
> shukeyc dire: Tears of the gods (old term for amber, the rest it my writer’s liberty)  
> Ibic ner buir, kaysh aliit: This is my father. He is family.  
> buy’ce: helmet  
> Udesii: Calm down  
> Gev! Di’kute: Stop! Idiots!  
> Shebs: buttocks, ass  
> Mirsheb: smartass  
> Jate: good  
> cyare: beloved  
> baar’ur: medic, healer  
> haran: hell (curse); destruction  
> bekar'gam: armour  
> Gedet’ye: Please  
> Haar’chak: Damnit


	44. Green is responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a promise fulfilled, a game played, a business to be completed and an unexpected meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song list:  
> 1) (Dargak’s humming tune) Paul Brady Oró, Sé do Bheatha 'Bhaile https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OabEMcA2EU8  
> 2) (get’shuk) Robert Slump – Flash point https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dn4F42bG9Dg&list=RDYFQ-3bS9uHU&index=27  
> 3) (Tharam & Rook) Blind Guardian – Blood tears https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q0JBV_n60R8  
> 4) (Tharam & Vayra at the sea) haevn – we are https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dW4HCi1zZh8

She had made it barely into their shared room when Tern literally assaulted her with questions. What had they spoken about, what had been decided, would she stay and more came bubbling out of his nervous system.

Despite having assured him that she could live with the status quo he had clung to her. Before and after an encounter which she would memorise as a feverish one. He had never struck her as possessive, but the way his words enwrapped and demanded her while he moved in her made her not only see stars but also him in a new light.

When she woke, she felt sore, but in a good way. When she became aware of her surroundings, she felt full, but in a very good way. His body was still pressed against her back and into her. With a low purr she realised that once awake he would probably pick up where they had fallen asleep during the night, at least his body didn’t seem to be opposed to this notion.

Maybe they could steal a few moments before the bustling of the day started. A few moments, before the daily chores and demanded their presence and attention. The slow rocking into her drew another purr from her. He had awoken and the same idea.

When the joined the others, they had showered and had their first meal. It was then that she learnt of her father’s night in the nursery and about the antics of Daryc. Though the large animal made sure she greeted every person in the morning, she also made clear where she saw her responsibility, her favourite place was among the foundlings. At least one of the smaller ones was always clinging to her fur, scratching her, and of course, helping her to treats.

It became a normal sight that where the younglings were Daryc was to be found too. The younger ones were happy to cuddle and play with her. The older ones taught her tricks and she guided them when it came to teaching the Boetay commands.

It also became normal that Daryc accompanied her on hunts, even when Tern didn’t have time to tag along, she was never alone. The Boetay had a good nose and although it was not helpful in its eagerness in the beginning. As soon as the commands came to fruition, she was a great aid.

With plenty of meat she decided to make another trip to the Ravaads after she had left Daryc to play with the younglings. The welcome she received was warm as always and she was asked inside while the women, Silara and Nira, prepared the bags which she was to get in exchange for the meat.

She hadn’t seen the rough construction at first, but Amaya had been eager to show her around, explaining in detail what she wanted her first room of her own to look like. She smiled at the eager girl. Having grown up as the only child to Dargak she had always had her own room, well at least after they had found their constant home on Ossus, but even before that.

Before she knew what she was saying she had offered to help the Ravaads. Though when she neared the cave again, she avoided the heavy infantry and went to her father instead, of his aid and skills at carpentry she was sure”

“Buir? Can I talk to you?” She was sure that he wouldn’t mind helping the farmers, still, she wanted him to agree, and maybe make it his own idea.

“Sure. What is it you want to talk about?”

She waited until he had laid the carving knife and box aside. Another small box was under construction and he was already busy decorating it with ornaments and inlay works.

“I’ve been to the Ravvads and brought them some meat. The flour and vegetables are already in the storeroom. They even threw in a large blanket. I was not sure who I should hand it to, maybe you could help me. I think you know better who is in need of one.”

“Of course. Give me a minute.”

Her eyebrows rose when her father opened a file and flicked through it: “You have a file for that?”

He gave her only a hum for an answer and turned the data pad so she could read.

“Kebiin? Wait, Kebiin, Ge’tal, Wuta, Daryc. You made a list? A list for all of them? With aliases?”

His hum was accompanied by a sly smile: “Colours, names, I don’t care. To run this tribe and see that no one is missing out on anything it is essential to keep track. It has helped me when we settled on Ossus, why shouldn’t it help here? In fact, it is much easier, as there are only so few. It is harmless in itself, but I prefer you keep it our little secret. Ok?”

“Is Kebiin who I think it is?” She lowered her head and looked up at him in an exasperated way. “There is no way …”

“Yes, you will. I don’t care how you will phrase it. As an excuse, a gift for Tulata or whatever. You will find something. I know that you have felt how hard it had been for him to reveal so much. It is your responsibility now to show him that you appreciate his concession.”

Stubbornness and logic fought within her, reclusiveness and the wish to get along struggled with her. With a deep sigh that ended in a grunt she gave in. And annoyed she squinted her eyes at her father who just answered with a smile and a nudge of his head which sent her on her way to find the heavy infantry, Paz Vizsla.

He must have been as surprised when she walked up to him and shoved the blanket into his chest: “With regards from the Ravaads.”

In reflex his arms hands tightened around it. Quickly she turned on her heels when his bass stopped her: “Wait. What do they want in return?”

“Nothing, I brought them some meat.”

In all the astonishment about her father’s list-keeping she had completely forgotten to tell him about the construction work on the farm. Eyeing the tall warrior clutching the equally large blanket to his cuirass she didn’t give it a second thought: “They are working to enlarge their living quarters. We could be of help, maybe.”

“I remember, they have been talking about it. If they have already started, we should help them. Do you think they are ready for a larger meeting?”

It was her turn to be surprised: “A larger meeting? What do you have in mind?”

Wasn’t this the man who had denied other Mando’ade to know his name? Was this the same Mando’ad who wanted them to mingle with _aruetiise_?

Doubt and confusion were written all over her face when she tilted her head in a questioningly angle.

“Their younglings were asking for ours, to play.”

“I don’t have any objections. As _al’verde_ it is your decision. You know how many my shuttle fits. Just let me know when you want to set off.”

With a nod, she turned and left. She had just made a few steps when his low voice still reached her: “Vor’e Kryban.”

It made her stride almost falter. She slowed, stopped and nodded without looking back before she continued. She needed to go back to her father so that he had enough time to pack all the tools he thought useful. When he had loaded the boxes onto the ship on Ossus she had wondered what was in them, now she was glad that he had been so considerate.

It was Tern who informed her that Paz wanted to set out the next day in the morning. As the shuttle had only limited space, not all were to go. He wanted her and Tern to take the speeder and announce them. He along with Dargak, Skilla, Ardill and Liom were to take the shuttle. She had smiled at his choice. During his visits, he must have observed the younglings on the farm.

With the shuttle loaded with Dargak’s tools, there was no space for more. But she was happy with the al’verde’s choice. They covered the age range of the children she had seen at the farm. The rest would stay at the cave together with Daryc, there would be another time when it was their turn to be introduced.

Tern tilted his head at her as she shuffled back from the front seat of the speeder and freed the place for him to sit. With a chuckle, she wiggled her helmet at him: “Come on, I know you want to.”

“Yeah. I do.” Lifting his leg over the speeder he glid into the space in front of her.

Softly she placed her hands on his hips just to have her tug at them and making her wrap her arms around him: “The closer the better.”

They both nodded at Paz and Dargak, who were just waiting for her signal to advance to the farm themselves. They both were known to the farmers and greeted likewise. Atria, the wife of the Elder, voiced her concern over their long absence, but knew better than to probe deeper at her superficial explanations. Instead, she asked about the annex and offered their help.

“As you have already seen that the tribe consists of a few more members. They would also be willing to help you with the construction. We would even have some younglings with us. Maybe they could get acquainted also.”

Her offer was eagerly accepted and the announcement that not only adults were coming had Brion and Gaven especially excited. Although when it was time to meet the three younglings from the cave, and among them especially Liom, they were quite shy.

Where it came to meeting the imposing, black-clad and helmeted figure of her father even the oldest of the farmer boys shrunk back. They stared up at his black helmet and its the protruding horns, obviously unsure what to make of his appearance. It was up to Dargak to break the ice by taking out the piece of leather, wrapped and tightened with stripes to press it into a roundish form.

It was a modified version of _meshgeroya_ he taught them. The rules were simpler, less aggressive and with that hopefully less accident-prone. He split up the groups evenly. Norwan’s nephew Edvar was to form a team with Skilla, Gaven, Liom and he was to join them. Norwan’s oldest son Gareth had Ardill, Brion and Amaya in his team. To make the odds even he asked Tern to join their team.

He didn’t have to tell the Nevarro brave to keep an eye on especially the smaller ones as the first tentative game started. Amaya held back to, mumbling something about it being a boy’s game, but Skilla had soon challenged her and the two girls were soon caught up in a friendly rivalry. The lack of training showed when Amaya tried to take the leather piece, but she didn’t lack in enthusiasm and tried the harder the next time.

Gaven and Liom had their high time and teamed up nicely against Gaven’s older brother Brion, but Ardill helped him keeping and gaining the object, and he helped him scoring points for their team. Edvar and Gareth didn’t give anything away for free and due to them, the game turned rougher once Adrilla and Skilla joined in, in what they were used to the game to be looking like. Amaya stepped back immediately finding shelter behind a cart. And while Tern pulled Brion out of the way Dargak made Gaven retreat before he turned to find Liom.

But a cry of pain rang out before he had fully turned.

“Kriff! Ad’ika! Are you okay?”

Dargak and Tern sprinted towards the small boy. With one hand he was holding his cheek and with other he was rubbing at his eyes, stubbornly smearing the streaks on his dirty face. His voice came in hiccups: “Didn’t see it. This hurts.”

Dargak knelt and peeled the small hand off to inspect the damage. The hard leather had left an imprint on his cheek and the impact had a dribble of blood run from his nose.

“End of game. I’ll bring you inside and you will lie down. Atria will have something that you will feel better.”

He gathered Liom in his arms and walked towards the farmhouse. He knew that it probably wasn’t anything serious, but just to make sure that Liom had no concussion he wanted him to rest. With the old farmer’s woman, he knew the boy to be in good hands.

When he came back to the field, he saw Tern and Ardill talking quietly a bit off from the others. He drew closer and let his eyes roam over the other youngling. They looked a bit shaken but otherwise collected. It was Edvar, the oldest of the farmer boys who addressed him: “It was an accident … we didn’t want him to get hurt. He just got in the way.”

He reassured the young man that it was no problem, that this happened all the time when they played according to their rules, that among them this was only a minor incident. Be he also confided in him that the huge man in the blue armour would have his head if it were anything serious.

He had the Edvar’s and Gareth’s interest when he mentioned the original version of _meshgeroya,_ and they wanted an example. Without thinking it over he promised that he would ask the others. Immediately he regretted it thinking about any lingering tensions and his own shoulder. But Tern was on fire and teamed them up already, they would play against Paz and Vayra. He didn’t know what Tern was thinking of but teaming up the way he suggested would at least ensure that the other two wouldn’t be at each other throats.

The day went past quick, with a lot of work, blisters and sweat. Even though the game with the younglings had delayed them, they had made good progress. The outer frame stood, the framework for the window was in place. And they agreed on coming the following day to continue their work.

“Will we play again tomorrow?” Edvar had voiced his request quietly but it still reached his ear.

“I will talk to them. See you tomorrow.”

Back in the shuttle, everyone was quiet, they were worn out. The only one active was Liom as he had been confined in the house. Agitatedly he re-told the stories Atria at told him, some made a tiny spark of memory light up. He had heard slivers of them before. But he pushed it away, more preoccupied with wording Edvar’s question and bringing it to the attention of Paz.

It was surprisingly easy, he found out. Paz was not opposed to the idea of the four of them have a go at the rough game. And in the hindsight, it proved to be essential.

The logs for the walls had been cut months prior and with his carpentry skills he had them fit snuggly. Log after log the wall grew in height and soon a cosy annex for Amaya had been constructed. Fitting in the small window was easy for him, he had done something similar work on Ossus already. Why he was working in the finer details the heard Paz swearing on the roof. He couldn’t make out what Tern said, but he heard the distinctive sound of metal on metal.

The laugh that rang out right after had him relax again. It made him feel good that the two grown warriors seemed relaxed enough for a banter. He still made his way up the ladder to see what they had been up to. The two helmets which rose to his own appearing over the edge of the roof kept their silence besides a low giggle from the green-blue one.

“What was that noise? Need any help?” He still tried to get something out of them.

Of course, the only answer he got from Paz was a grunt, but Tharam was slightly more helpful and the mischievous tone told him more than his words: “Warming up for the _get’shuk_.”

He bristled: “You are what? I only talked about _meshgeroya_! I never said anything about _get’shuk_!” He gave them and himself a minute until their chuckles died down before he made sure: “You really want to do this? If anybody gets hurt … oh well, as long as we get this finished today. Unless you want to come back tomorrow, too.”

He let his eyebrows shot up once as he grinned at the two warriors on the roof. Maybe they were right, and they all needed to get into the game to let off some steam. On the way back down the ladder, he softly started to hum a tune that had been lingering in the back of his head.

Picking up his hammer again he continued to nail the planks to the inside of the wall. Soon the annex would be ready to be filled with the belongings of Amaya. A late second meal had them interrupt their work and one after the other they used the privacy of the shuttle to help themselves to the stew prepared by the farmer’s wife and his sister, Nira. He saw Paz observing him and Vayra as they both also used the shuttle to have their meal without the farmers seeing them.

With their work finished late in the afternoon they still had time for the promised game. Edvar and his cousin Gareth wanted to join and for the first match, he let them join. He filled the others in to the still simplified game with less rough rules. He monitored Paz whenever he got close to the boys, but relaxed quickly, the big warrior made sure that the two Sundari would participate without being in any real danger.

For the last match he made the Sundari step aside, out of range and explained the basic rules of _get’shuk_ to them. The boys’ eyes shone excitedly, but he didn’t allow them to participate, telling them that once they saw what the game was like they would regret their eagerness.

He had Vayra team up with Paz, while Tharam was to be on his side. They were worn out, but that was what he had hoped for. Thus, so he hoped the game wouldn’t get out of hand.

“ _Ohira geroya_!”

But they started out rough. As soon as the piece of leather was thrown into the air between them the breath was knocked out from him as Paz threw himself at him. They went down in grunts and a puff of dust. Vayra had used Tharam as leverage, with her hand on his shoulder she pushed herself further up and slapped the leather out of his reach. But she was brought down as the warrior’s arms wrapped around her and he flopped on his back. Her scream was angry as he took her with him. Even though his body broke her fall she swore loud enough for everyone to hear.

With the heavier man above him, he writhed until Paz pushed himself up to dash after the object of desire. His grip around the blue ankle had him getting dragged along a metre before Paz turned and punched down at him. He rolled over and swung around to wipe the other man’s legs out from under him.

Tharam grunted with Vayra’s elbow in his ribs and he let her go. It was her turn to scramble up and run for the leather construct. Paz’s impact on the ground had another puff of dust rise up as he pushed himself up and went after Vayra.

Their chances to score the first point were good, the ball was far into their field. He only needed to get his hands on the leather before she could do anything. His size gave him an advantage, he was crowding Vayra in when her sharp call came: “ _Kebiin_!”

The leather curved its way past his outstretched arm, unreachable in its height. The arch was perfect, but then there was Tharam. He slid into the arch’s way to intercept, his lean form jumped. Higher than Paz, he was lighter and younger. His hands were inches away when he let go of a howl of protest. Tharam created the fourth puff of dust, but when it settled, he could see that the younger warrior, though brought down, had the leather.

Lying his position was weak, but he still tried to throw the ball to him. He raced towards it, bent to pick it up and turned as he was stunned in his movement. Vayra rose the fifth puff of dust, he had involuntarily tackled her smaller form down.

But he had no time for sentiments, the game was already getting heated and he had hoped to have it ended faster before anybody got really injured besides the bruises all of them had collected already. He was sprinting towards the goal. Thick vambraces latched around his waist and he was turned to the left as Paz thundered into his right shoulder.

There was only one flash of thought in his head as the ground came nearer – not again, not the left shoulder. But the arm didn’t let go, the momentum of the turn didn’t stop. With the added weight he came down hard on his right side. A black figure raced up to them and the leather was wrung from his hands.

Paz was up immediately and plunged after her. He knew exactly the next target of the heavy infantry. It took only seconds as the larger blue armour buried the green-blue one under its bulk and in the sixth dust cloud. Varya was free to run on. Panting he heaved himself up, and made after her, not that he would have a chance to reach her in time, to keep her from scoring the goal.

Her victorious whoop was loud, and it made the two Nevarro warriors stop their struggling. A mustered baritone grumbled loudly: “Congratulations, now get off me, _ori’bes’uliik_.”

They were all dusting themselves off and slowly joining their stunned audience. A quietness filled the field and nothing, but their heavy pants could be heard. Old as young stood in awe, they were eyed up and down, seen anew and in a new light. He could tell that the farmers hadn’t seen anything like this before and they had been only two in a team. When he saw the look on Edvar’s and Gareth’s faces, he smirked. He had seen how they had drawn towards the warriors. Some romantic idea must have nested in their heads but seeing the brutal effectiveness they exerted had them down on the ground of reality again.

And he intended to keep them grounded: “We are warriors. Of course, we play as we fight.” His attention was diverted when Paz knelt next to the smaller boys. Although the tall man talked quietly to them, he could still make out his last words: “… and this is why I said your parents won’t like you playing our games.”

It was Nira who later found their way to him as they were about to bid the farmers their farewell. He could see the relief in her eyes when she thanked him having been able to watch the game. He knew what she meant when she looked over to her son.

“I understand that it can be hard for boys growing into men and never seeing anything else but the clod of earth they were born on. Our life has nothing romantic about it, we are warriors and hunters, and we are being hunted. Especially the latter is less appealing, for anyone.”

-*-*-*-

Her whole body ached and the hot water from the shower was a balm on her sore back. Atria had given them another jar of the salve she made. She went through her options as she failed to properly reach the spot between her shoulder blades. Of the three, Tulata, Dargak or Tern, the first one promised to be the least fretting one.

She had been too much in thought to hear the soft barefooted pads that announced Tern’s presence. But she heard when he sucked in his breath. Not even the helmet could cover the sound.

“Kriff! Was that me? I’m sorry, so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Thought that I had you … so that you didn’t …”

He tried to blurt out more of his excuses and explanations when she simply turned to him. The way he got silent all of a sudden made her imagine him staring with his mouth open. A sly grin nudged her lips up.

But it only lasted a moment, and he started his rambled excuses again. His bare fingers brushed tenderly over the last rip bow. The sting told her that his vambrace had dug in too hard when he had her pressed against him.

Grabbing his fingers, she pulled his hand around her waist as she closed the distance. Grabbing his other hand, she placed it over the curve of her ass as she lifted her leg to sling it around his hips. And he quickly picked her up, pressed her back against the tiles. Quickly she made him forget about the bruises he had caused when she rolled her hips against his hardening length. She would need another shower afterwards and he would be even more worn out, but they relished in the feeling, savoured each other and their time of intimacy.

Before they curled up in their bed, he opened the jar Atria had given them and spread the ointment on the colouring spots on her back and on her ribs. When he spooned around her, he carefully cradled her against his chest as they fell asleep with their limbs entangled.

-*-*-*-

In the following days and weeks, a peaceful routine settled in. As time slipped by, they improved the situation in the single caves, more and more pieces of furniture were crafted by Dargak and either of the Nevarro warriors who was free to help him. The younglings had a routine of their own, the older ones looking after the younger one when the adults were too busy. Yet, whenever one was free they explored the surroundings, got to know the nature around them and besides keeping up their training helped out where they could. Soon most of the younglings tagged along with and adult and their work which suited them best.

Their trips to the farm had become frequent, though not regular. One by one the different members of the tribe were brought into contact with them and after some weeks they had introduced themselves completely.

The range of goods they could sell in Ariana grew with each week. Dargak’s exquisite boxes, Tulata’s ointments, Bril’s carved wooden toys, Vayra’s leatherwork. And the time neared when they had to find out about the possibilities to sell them at the market. They had sat together and discussed their options, and, in the end, they had decided that Vayra and Tern were the most unobtrusive appearances, they knew their way round best due to their former travels and encounters.

-*-*-*-

He was nervous and sleep eluded him. Varya had been to the magistrate of Ariana the day before and had got the required certification to participate in selling at the market. They had all helped together to load the shuttle and would set out more or less in the middle of the night to be at the market as one of the first. Vayra’s reasoning had been that the earlier they were there, the sooner they might have sold their goods and thus the sooner they could leave again.

With the helmet on the nightstand, he heard the alarm of his HUD immediately and it only beeped once before he switched it off. Brushing his lips against the shell of her ear he whispered to her to wake up. She was grumbling, but soon awake enough to rise.

Despite the early hour they were not the first to be awake. Dargak was already in the kitchen alcove and had caff prepared which he brought back to their quarters. After a quick first meal, they were on their way. The darkness of the early hour had her father’s lone figure quickly swallowed.

He would have liked to see more of the city, but the light was still too dim. At the port they rented a droid-powered hover-cart and loaded their goods onto it. He was to help Vayra to set everything up and then to retreat when the customers filled the marketplace. As soon as everything was in place he went back to the shuttle, their only link the helmets’ com-system.

Dargak had given him his holo-pad and as boredom took over, he found himself flicking through various articles. What had his attention were several coded folders which required a password. His fingers hovered over the keys before he switched the pad off. The sun had risen hours ago and stood high. A cooler season was coming, he had noted the frost covering surfaces in the morning. But the sun was still strong enough to thaw it with in the first hour.

While he was waiting the shuttle got warmer with the shining sun. He went to the cockpit and looked out. With the port full there was not much traffic, just a few workers busy with their chores. Reaching to his helmet he gave a short signal, inquiring about Vayra’s status. It took a few moments before he got the arranged signal back. She was still busy, although he didn’t know whether it was due to a good business or a lack thereof.

Settling back in the hull of the shuttle he pulled down the seats, contemplating about a short rest to make the time past. But although he drifted off for a time, time didn’t really pass. Checking on the chrono he refrained from pinging Vayra again, but curiosity got the better part of him. Slinging Dargak’s dark cloak around his body and pulling the hood deep he checked once again before he opened the shuttle’s hull and quickly slid out.

The way to the market had him wander up several roads and pass a number of houses. The sheer about of people was overwhelming after the time just among his tribe and with the Sundari. Avoiding contact, he wove his way around a cluster of chatting people. But the closer he got to the market the livelier the streets got. Ariana seemed to attract all kinds of species and he slightly felt reminded of the diversity he had come across on Ossus. Keeping close to the wall’ s of the houses, he edged closer to the market, using a side alley he pulled closer to the stall they had set up.

Even from afar he could clearly make out her form, hooded and cloaked in dark. Her day had been busy, not many of the goods they had set up, were left. Of Tulata’s jars with ointment he couldn’t see any left, same with Dargak’s boxes. He smiled happily that Vayra’s idea had proven to be quite a success.

With their goods having been such a success they would be able to leave the city earlier than they had planned. His eyes scanned over the hover-cart, not much was left on it either. He kept watching as customers came, inspected their goods, bought something or left again. It was then that he noted her hunched over body posture. On instinct he wanted to react, but soon he realised that she did it on purpose.

Making herself smaller, less imposing, looking fragile and vulnerable, she even managed a shaking in her hand. If he didn’t know her, he might have read the signs for that of a worn-out, elderly person. Her pretence was close to perfect. Only one or the other precise movement flawed the disguise. When she was alone, he pinged her with the signal and got an answer immediately.

“You are doing fine.” The inter-com was working well, he saw her head turn as she looked for him. When he emerged from the dimness narrow alley, she gave him a slight nod.

“I think we can pack up the rest.”

With that she started to clear the stand, loading everything onto the hover-cart, and with a slow look around she started off, down the road towards the port.

“Will meet you at the next crossing.” He glid back into the semi-light and using the side alleys he made his parallel way to the shuttle.

When he met the crossing, she was not ahead of him, the cart moving before her she was a few strides behind and away from the crossing. He entered the busier road and walked ahead of the cart. Until the next crossing they walked in silence, then he heard her voice in his helmet: “Can you take over, need to run an errand.”

“Sure, meeting at the shuttle?”

“Yes. Shouldn’t take me too long.”

He took over the cart and when he rounded the next corner he glanced back, she was no longer following, at some point of time she had veered off. With the cart trailing after him he went into the port and their hangar. There was really not much left, they would have to restock their goods and he calculated that in about a standard month they would have again enough to attend the market.

When he was done, he waited. And time drew on without Vayra showing up. He pinged her and didn’t get a response. They had agreed to meet at the shuttle, and he stalked its length up and down. After some time, he messaged her again, asking where she was and how long she would take.

“Some more, have to wait in the line.” He wondered at her quizzical answer, wondered at what she was waiting for and in which line.

His decision was made quickly: “Then I take a stroll through the market. Hadn’t had time to take a look around.”

He got a confirmative ping for an answer and left the port again. Knowing his way around, he swiftly made his way through the side alleys to come out at the further end of the market. It had quietened down, some stalls, such as theirs, were already closed, other vendors were in the progress of packing, but slowed as he passed, hoping for a last coin to earn. His head turned left and right, taking in the still available product range. Then he noted an elderly man. He was still sitting on a stool, one leg stretched out. His stall was next to a house entrance and small. The way it sat under an awning it was easy to be overlooked.

He studied the sitting man who was well past his best years and something drew him closer. At the sound of his footsteps the man turned his head and he stopped in his tracks. The head tilted slowly, moved slowly, turned slightly more towards him.

The more salt than pepper fringe hung low over his cheek, but he still saw it. The deep gash – from forehead to his jaw – cutting through the left half of his face.

“Can I awake your interest for something?” His voice was a hoarse rasp. Whatever had cut the man’s face, he could see the scars extend down his throat, too.

His helmet lowered under the hood to take in what the man was selling. Delicate necklaces, shining bracelets and glittering rings. Various gems encased in golden and silvery metals shone in the light. None of them he could see on Vayra. Not even the pendant with a cut stone, green as her eyes.

Quietly he shook his head and made to turn when the rasp turned to a whisper reached him.

“Too exquisite?”

He looked at the hair covered profile of the man, he still hadn’t turned his head further towards him.

“Looking for something with more meaning, more substance?”

The intonation of the last word made his head tilt in return. He hummed quietly, the tone barely caught by his vocoder.

The curtain of grey hair could not completely hide the smirk which pulled at the man’s lips for just a second. And his voice went even quieter, a bare breath that was harder and harder to catch. But he caught it, and without realising, it made him tense.

“I might have something meeting your taste.”

The man pulled a small try from underneath his stand. A single, dark silvery shining pendant was lying on the velvety surface. Instinctively he bent forward, reached out, his gloved hand hovered over the silver profile, the head of a predator. The ear flattened, eye squinted, the fang protruding from the upper jaw. Only one metal had a shine like this.

The vendor leant forward, closed the distance between them even more as he lowered his voice to a mere breath: “ _Par gar riduur_ , _verd_?”

He swallowed down the wrong pipe, his hand grabbed the pole keeping up the awning as the first ripples of his choked cough shook his torso. He sputtered and tried to get rid of the suffocation feeling. his throat burnt all the way down and his eyes teared up.

“ _Udesii_! You are drawing attention.”

“ _M-meg-g g-gar_?”

His vision might have been blurry, but he felt the iron grip with which the man pried his fingers from the pole. He hadn’t seen him stand up, he had been too distracted by his own fight for air. But as he was lead through the entrance, he also felt the uneven stance with which the man walked. Shaking his head to get a clearer view he saw the cane, no, it was a crutch.

With one hand he was guided, in the other the man still held the small tray. With his head he pointed towards a door: “There is a fresher which you might want to use.”

He stumbled towards it, threw the door open and shut behind him. It was a small windowless room, and he pulled his helmet off. Still coughing he took the step towards the sink and made the water run. Splashing the cold liquid on his face cleared his vision and when his cough was manageable, he tried a few swallows.

Looking up he saw his reflection in the small, faded mirror. A still shocked expression stared through unruly strands of brown hair back at him. He rubbed his hands over his face and straightened his hair back. He needed a few moments before he put the helmet on again. Pulling up his hood had no point anymore, he stepped out of the fresher to face the vendor.

“Meg gar? _Tion’jor nari gar kar’tayl …_?”

“Jintar Rook.”

He said it as if it should mean anything to him. But it didn’t.

“Your voice … the modulator.”

He tilted his head down as he surveyed the man. He needed a crutch, so his eyes roamed along the man’s leg, his left side was weaker than his right and he didn’t bend his knee.

“ _Gar_ …”

His eyes roamed up again, coming to a rest on the man’s lined face. Even from the front, the man’s fringe hid mostly all of his left side, only glimpses of the ragged line of his scar were to be caught. A very light blue eye was trained unblinkingly on him.

“ _Gar_ … _mand_ …?”

He noticed how the tray quivered slightly and the piercing blue eye slimmed as the brows drew lower in a frown. Imperceptibly he lowered his helmet, his voice was grave, but he gained its steadiness back: “ _Gar mando’ad_?”

Slowly the man peeled the sleeve up his forearm, a coiled vexis wrapped its body around his flesh. Eternally engraved in black ink. He waited for a reaction which did not come: “You don’t recognize me.” It was barely a whisper, an erratic note swung with the statement.

Only the fragment of a movement of the muscles in his neck gave his helmet a tiny roll to the side.

“You aren’t Tror.”

His shake was one-sided, but unmistakably a no. His own brow furrowed at how the man’s shoulders sank. As he deflated, he looked even older and more fragile.

“No, you aren’t. You are … his _ad_.”

He didn’t know what he should occupy his brain with first. He combed his brain for any knowledge about how this man could be one of theirs, how he could know the name of his _buir_ , how he could know that he was Tror’s _ad_. He wanted to know who this Rook was and what he knew. But he was not ready to disclose anything in return.

“He’s marched away then … like so many others.”

Again, he only answered with a tiny fraction of movement. Then his helmet came to a full tilt in a question he couldn’t put into words.

“You are wearing his armour, his colours ... as an _ad_ should.”

His jaws ached as he continued to clench his mouth shut. His heart hammered in his chest as he continued to clench his hands into fists, making the leather creak.

“We both need time to process. If you have time and are willing to hear me, I’m willing to indulge you and answer any questions.”

The shake of his helmet came sharper than he had intended.

“I see.” The man’s head sank, and his shoulders came down with his deep exhale.

He thought he sensed disappointment and resignation in the other man. His curt answer had not been very clear: “Not now. No time.”

The man looked down at the tray with the pendant. With a flicker of his eyes between him and the tray he shoved it closer to him: “Here, take it.”

The shaking of his helmet was livelier, and a small smile played along his lips: “Next time.” With a quick nod, he bid the grey-haired man farewell, pulled up his hood, and left the small shop more hastily than necessary.

He needed to go back to the cave, he needed to talk to Paz about this man. Maybe he knew him, had heard about him. Paz would know what to do about the man called Jintar Rook.

With a billowing cloak, he hurried through the almost empty main road, looking sideways at the crossing to not run into anyone or anything he skidded to a halt at the sight of a dark cloak which exited a building and made its way to the side alley.

He hastened to follow her, but the look he threw at the door she had come out from, froze his steps. As if the recent encounter hadn’t been enough already, he thought. He certainly wouldn’t get any answers where she had come out from, he had to the source to get answers, he had to ask her directly.

He cursed: What was she hiding from him? Was it anything serious? He hadn’t imagined that he would come back with a ton of question from a single trip to Ariana. Gathering himself again he rushed after her. His hand reached up to the helmet to signal her, but then he dropped it again. There would be enough time on the shuttle, back at the cave.

-*-*-*-

Some customers gave her a strange look, others were clearly not interested in the vendor, but in the new range of products. Within a short time the word had got around and even more people strolled up to her stall, asked about the ingredients of Tulata’s salve, tried to haggle the price for Dargak’s boxes and some just watched as she worked on the leather belt when there was no business to be made.

Working with the sharp needle and the small, curved blade was a good excuse for not removing her gloves. She was busy with dealing with two customers as she heard the signal coming through the audio of the helmet. But she had to ignore until she had a moment to herself, then she sent quickly her signal back, the next customer was already coming closer to her stall.

She had one of the jar’s opened and let those who were interested try, having memorized the ingredients she could give the required information. Others wanted to be shown the opening mechanism of the wooden boxes, both were especially popular with the female customers, these and the wooden figurine which Bril had made.

The man asked for a special design of belt although he saw that she didn’t have it. She sat crouched on the stool and stopped the sewing of the sling for the pouch she was just making.

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t have the means to make such a special request.”

“What are you good for then? He had raised his voice and was drawing the attention of some bystanders, some recent customers.

“For what I have to sell. These are of good quality as I know how to make them.”

When he leant over the stall, she made herself flinch back, made her smaller on the stool, made her head look around as if seeking for help. She didn’t expect any to come, she only wondered how far he would go and when she would have to stop him.

But then the large logger, who had been standing further off, made his way through the crowd again.

“Any problems?”

“No, sir. I’m just explaining that the range of my products only includes what is on display.”

“Who are you to …” The rude man’s words died in his throat as he had to crane up his neck to look the logger into his broad face.

“Well, as she hasn’t what you need, why don’t you try other stalls.”

He was grumbling something she didn’t get, but he left after throwing them both dirty looks.

“Thank you, sir. Coming to aid to an old woman is a chivalry that has gone lost.” She smiled at the blush she had produced. And the logger just waved and made off with a few humble words.

She hadn’t expected that this would draw even more customers. It was as if it were their excuse for the rude behaviour of one of their own. She no longer had time to work on the pouch as she served one after the other. More and more she had to tell that she was out of the product, more and more she had to promise to bring more next time.

The pretence of being a smaller, weaker and older version of herself had proved useful and she kept it up.

“You are doing fine.” She could hear his voice clearly and she looked around for him. He was well hidden in a dark alley.

When less and less customers came, due to the dwindles products she had to offer and the late time, she started to pack up the rest and put them on the hover-cart. Taking different routes, they would meet back at the shuttle. But she saw his form emerge from a crossing and continue to walk ahead of her, far enough to give the illusion that they didn’t belong together.

When she saw the sign above the house in the side road, she made him take over the cart. If memory served her well, it wouldn’t take her long. He still might finish unloading the cart quicker than she would be able to be back at the hangar, but she hadn’t bargained for the dozens of people waiting in the row before her.

The first ping told her that she was waiting, but the had to fill in the form. It had her thinking. She needed to tell enough to get the treatment, but little enough to giver her or the others away.

The second message did surprise her somewhat. She hadn’t thought that he would want to go back to the market again. The way he had kept back in the alley, the way he had walked close to the walls on their way back to the port, had made her believe that he wanted to be away and off as quickly as possible.

But it gave her time and with every customer in front of her that left the room again she grew more and more restless. She also wanted to be away and off with the shuttle, but she needed to get these things done first.

When it was her turn, she felt slightly nervous. It had been a long time since her last check-up and her special request for a medical droid had the personnel bristle. The more she was astonished when a 2-1B entered the room she was waiting in. She made sure that it would keep its silence and after the check and treatment she watched as it deleted her file.

Feeling lighter at heart with the results in her pocket she exited the medical centre and used the side alley that also led towards the port. But when she entered the hangar, the shuttle was closed. Footsteps drawing in fast made her turn, facing whoever was coming after her, a second later she recognized her father’s cloak and a sliver of green-blue beneath in.

“Almost on time.”

“Didn’t know you would make it into a race.” If he had meant it to be a joke, she couldn’t hear the amusement in his voice. She shrugged it off and opened the shuttle.

Their trip back to the cave took longer. First, she set a route south to the coast. The sun was already low and the glittering sea was blinding her occasionally until she activated the shading device. But this didn’t anything to diminish the impression the tense body on the co-pilot’s gave her. When she heard him mumble – _mesh’la_ – she knew what she had to do.

His helmet turned sharply towards her as she landed the shuttle on the beach: “What are you doing?”

“Fancy some time for us? As a treat for selling so many of our products in such a short time?”

Eager was the only word to describe his reaction, the nod of his helmet, the energetic push he turned the seat with and strode to the hull’s door, the shifting of his weight to balance the last moment of the landing. She had seen this kind of eagerness before, long time ago. Back then it had been a clearing in a jungle, the last time she had seen Denx alive.

The sounds of the waves rolling onto the shore helped her to push the memories aside. And closing the ramp she joined him where he stood. His boots just this side of where the water licked the sandy beach. Following his line of sight, she took in where the sun was nearing the horizon, painting the dark blues and greys of the sea with oranges and yellows.

When she felt his fingers brush against the back of her hand, she opened and interlaced her fingers with his. A bit further down she saw an old tree trunk, washed ashore in the last storm. She tugged at his hand and together they strolled over. It was not too comfortable, but better than just standing on the sand.

Last night’s flood hadn’t made it quite to the trunk and some seaweed, small shells and pebbles outlined where the water had reached to. A warm colour stood out of the duller ones. She bent and picked up the small pebble. It was much lighter than she had thought and no matter how she turned the semi-opaque, the warm colour stayed.

“What is that?” She had never seen anything like that before.

“A stone.”

She handed him the little stone and he examined it.

“It’s so light. If it’s not a stone, I don’t know.” He was silent for some time before he quietly added: “I might know someone who might know, though.”

She looked up at him and slowly he told her about his encounter.

“You have to talk to Paz about this Rook.”

“I know. As soon as we are back. Just give us a few minutes.”

She leant closer and rested her helmet on his pauldron. His arm around her waist kept her warm as they watched the sunset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buir: father, mother; parent  
> Kebiin: blue  
> Ge’tal: red  
> Wuta: teal  
> Daryc: brown  
> Aruetiise: strangers; traitor  
> al’verde: commander  
> meshgeroya: limmie or bolo-ball – lit: the beautiful game, a Mandalorian obsession  
> get’shuk: team game, similar to rugby, fast, brutal and painful  
> Ohira geroya: begin the game  
> ori’bes’uliik: big basilisk  
> Par gar riduur, verd: for your spouse / partner/ wife / husband  
> Udesii: Calm down  
> Meg gar: who / what are you  
> Tion’jor nari gar kar’tayl: Why do you know  
> Gar … mando’ad: You are a Mandalorian  
> ad: child, son daughter  
> buir: parent; father, mother  
> mesh’la: beautiful


	45. Green is obligation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories - hurt and heal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song list:
> 
> 1) (Rook) Epica – Feint https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1v9PSbz9-88  
> 2) (Paz) Sebestyén Márt – harom arva https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hdyM1IXbc3g&list=PLdpvP4F4mXmW7va_z7PtcVi1uesrf9GKQ&index=3  
> 3) (Dargak) runfell - bloodmoon https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JwYZfRqHnpA&list=RDM1eC56Ciuy0&index=17 4) (Rook’s story) Marta Sebestyen- Hajnali nota https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5opJ82JIsPs&list=PLdpvP4F4mXmW7va_z7PtcVi1uesrf9GKQ&index=6  
> And / or: Sebestyén Márta: Fehér galamb szállt a házra https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f34dS0hbwS8&list=PLdpvP4F4mXmW7va_z7PtcVi1uesrf9GKQ&index=7

He watched him storming out, his cloak billowed behind him. Shaken he stared after the Mandalorian who hid his armour behind a dark cloak. He had only seen a glimpse, for a second only, but never would he forget these colours. As long as his eye was serving him, he would know this green and blue immediately.

The voice, modulated as it was, hadn’t told him much, but there were not that many in need of a vocoder. The reaction of the cloaked Mandalorian hadn’t given away much either, at fist. And even when there had been nor reaction to his assumption, he was sure that he had talked to a Tern. But even if he was wrong, he had talked to a Mandalorian, no matter how much the warrior had tried to hide the obvious. After so many years he had talked to one of his own.

 _But was he still one of them_? He was in a rush when he cleared his stall, put everything in the small apartment and closed his door. _Did he still belong_? His gaze fell onto the small tray where he had put it down. _Hadn’t he forsaken the way_? The predator’s profile caught the few rays of light and glinted mockingly back at him. _Hadn’t the bond been severed_? Taking the tray, he hid it again in the secret compartment of his stall.

He didn’t know if the warrior would come back. He wished for it and yet he dreaded it. Tror Tern – he tried to remember when he had seen the warrior the last time. Sometimes things from the past were hard for him to remember, sometimes memories became a blur or eluded him completely, sometimes it was only thing he could see- and Tror Tern was one of the few things he would never forget.

-*-*-*-

He was relieved when he received the call. Tharam had sounded a bit sheepish when he admitted that they had used some time for themselves and then he had picked up on the edge in the younger man’s voice. Something else had happened, something Tharam wanted to talk about only in person. And this had him restless. It could be anything, but the knew the younger man and his ways well enough to dread what the hunter had to reveal just by hearing this special note in his voice.

He had gotten used to receiving bad news, and mentally he already prepared to evacuate the cave. Mentally he went through what they had to bring to the ship. His gaze fell onto the kitchen area, leaving back all the furniture they had built in the past weeks would be a shame.

He refrained from starting to pack things already. A tiny part of his inner self kept telling him that whatever Tharam had to tell him would not cause them to leave Garos as quickly as possible. Teaching himself patience he forced himself to wait outside the cave for the arrival of the shuttle.

The shuttle had barely landed when Tharam stormed out of the still lowering ramp. He couldn’t help but tense up and swore that he hadn’t started with the organisation of the evacuation. He couldn’t have tensed up more when the smaller warrior grabbed his arm and pulled him off towards the fallen trunk.

Yet, it made him smirk, the trunk seemed to have become their conference area. Tharam radiated a nervous excitement which he didn’t like. He hoped by sitting down that he could calm things down, too, but the other warrior kept standing, pacing up and down in front of him. Whatever had Tharam shaken, had made him speechless to some point.

Now it was up to him to ease the pressure off the hunter by giving him the time to collect himself. After a while Tharam turned towards him.

“Jintar Rook.”

He remained silent for a long time. The memory was vague until a long-forgotten picture formed before his eyes. A grey flight suit with dull grey armour, with dark blue around the black visor. The only really colourful thing, a red sash under the utility belt. Something else that had him stand out from the others was is preference for fingerless gloves – for a better grip, he had said.

“We lost him on Mandalore. He was in the front rows of defence. He went marching during the first volley.”

He almost couldn’t make out the words between the cracking noise of the vocoder. Tharam’s voice had dropped to a mere whisper: “What if he didn’t?”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t go marching?”

“I think … At the market … I met a man today. He addressed me as Tror. He must have seen my armour, although I wore Dargak’s cloak ... He recognized me for what I am … and spoke our language ... He …”

“He what? Go on, Tharam!” He hadn’t meant to get loud, but the prospect of finding another of their creed, and above all on the very plant they had found refuge on – the chances had been so small that he hadn’t given it a single thought.

“He showed me his tattoo … A vexis, coiling round his forearm ... Around here.” Tharam indicated where Rook had displayed the tattoo.

He had to get a hold of himself. If Tharam was right, if the man was who he claimed to be – it was hard to not get excited about it.

“ _Al’verde_.”

He immediately sobered at the urgency in Tharam’s voice. The hunter had become careful, tense and restless, he even inched back. All of a sudden, he knew that he didn’t want to hear what Tharam was holding back. Interlacing his fingers, he rested his weight on his knees, bracing for what would come.

“Spit it out already!”

The hunter took a deep breath: “ _Nayc beskar’gam_.”

Everything was instinct. His roar was instinct, his sudden jump to a stand was instinct, grabbing Tharam’s cuirass and pulling him close was instinct. Tharam’s vambrace smashing down on his own to break the grip was instinct, too.

“I can’t help it but didn’t see any armour on him. The left side of his face … I think his whole left side … he got injured … badly injured. I don’t know what happened. He didn’t say … I didn’t ask … I-I chickened out.”

“You chickened out?”

“I … he changed from Basic to Mando’a and I panicked. I wasn’t prepared for that. He wanted to give me something and I declined. Told him: next time. The only thing I could think of was getting out there and talking to you.”

A movement far in the background caught his attention. The Zabrak and his – Dargak and Vayra stood next to the emptied shuttle, their heads turned towards them. He shook his head in a weak attempt to clear it.

“I have to think about this, and I should talk to the others.” With a nod towards the two black armours he added: “Their opinion I know already.”

Tharam turned to see who he was pointing at. When he turned back to him, his voice was quiet again: “They will say that he was a _verd_ … a _vod_.”

“They will.” His armour felt heavy when he made the first steps away from Tharam and the trunk. “We will talk about it tomorrow.”

His steps got wider the closer he came to his and Tulata’s room, the only place where he was comfortable to take off his helmet. And he desperately needed to take it off. He felt better without the protective gear enclosing him. Giving in to the pressure he felt his armour gave him he slid down the wall next to the entrance. Resting his arms on his knees he let his forehead sink and rest against his vambraces. The metal’s coolness grounded him somewhat.

This is how Tulata found him, deep in thought, and it took her several tries to gain his attention. He barely lifted his head, and she knew something was up. He waited until she had found her position next to him and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his side.

Quietly with an almost monotonous voice he filed her in what Tharam had told him and added what he remembered.

“I remember that the older _verde_ said that among the chaos a thorough search couldn’t take place, that he was among those that went missing early.”

The more he thought about it the more the turmoil increased. “There are so many questions. Where has he been all those years? Has he been looking for us? Tharam said that he … he’s not wearing a helmet, no armour. Has it been removed, has he abandoned the way?”

A violent shudder ran though his body, and not even Tulata wrapping her arms about his midriff could keep him from shaking.

“The thing that hits me most is that we … Tharam … after so many years … it raises questions ... Are there more like him, are there any still following the way … alone.”

He felt Tulata press even closer as his breath came in stutters – _have you ever removed your helmet – has it ever been removed –_ he heard her voice clearly. It had prevented him from giving in to his anger. It had stopped him from slitting the hunter’s – Din’s throat. It had kept him from tearing off his helmet as his intention had been. But that had been before they had to evacuate, before he lost more of his tribe, before he had met the Ossus warriors. And warriors they were.

Everything Tharam told him and everything he had seen them doing so far had been in accordance with the _Resol’nare_. They spoke Mando’a – yet he had heard her speaking to Dargak also in another language he didn’t know. He knew that they knew how to defend themselves and their family – though he had to see it himself, yet. They gave to the clan – both had provided by hunting and with selling their products at the market. They wore and cared for their armour – he had seen the diligence with which both threated their beskar’gam – yet the helmet! They would raise their children as Mandalorians – he had seen Dargak interact with the younglings, especially with Liom, he had heard him teaching the boy – yet he hadn’t seen much of Vayra, would she raise her children as warriors? And would they follow Mand’alor to the battlefield – both had seen their share of the war.

“What shall I do, Tul’ika? What shall we do?”

He hadn’t meant to sound that desperate. He had to be solid as a rock – for the others. He had to hold himself together – and the others. He closed his eyes as his head connected with a thump with the wall behind him – and again a dull thump as he rocked his head back again – tensing the muscles of his neck he let head rock back again – no sound, but something softer kept his head from hitting against the stone, something had slid between the back of his head and the wall.

“Stop that Paz.” Her voice was commanding but compassionate and tender at the same time.

With a sigh he let his head sink into his interlaced fingers: “What am I to do, Tul’ika?”

“Sleep over it. Talk to the others. Hear their opinions, all of them. Then we decide together.”

It was the best advice, yet he shook wearily his head within his palms.

“Come to bed, _cyare_. Together we will think of something.”

-*-*-*-

He had helped Vayra to unload the shuttle and they had taken stock of what was left, together with a quick estimation of what and how much to restock. He had added some ideas of what else they could add to their range of products.

And then Vayra had informed him about what had happened to Tharam in Ariana. He had held his breath and as they exited the shuttle a last time for the day, he had seen the two Nevarro warriors in deep conversation over at the fallen tree.

A Mandalorian without a helmet. He could see the problems the tall warrior would have with that. He had promised Vayra to keep his silence, it was _their_ _vod_ , it was _their_ decision. His jaw set at the prospect of their discussion. Would they still be hard-headed? Or would they at least be interested enough to seek contact and hear the other man out?

Alone in his part of the cave his mind started wandering, mulling over the problem the long lost warrior posed. He wondered if the same questions were nagging at him as at Paz. Over all those years, where had the Mandalorian been, what had he done to not wear his armour anymore? With his arms crossed behind his neck he lay in his bed, knowing only too well that sleep would elude him for some time.

_You are not worthy! You will just vanish when I’m done with you! – but he did best the other apprentice, it was her who vanished, not him._

_You are weak! You can’t even create the proper kyber! – but his purple one still proved to be more powerful, more destructive, it was the other apprentices’ red lightsabres that got snuffed out – permanently._

_Until you learn to bow you will crawl in the dirt! – the pain was excruciating, but he struggled his way back up, came to stand again, swaying more with each time, it was the sixth calculated slash across his back that drove him into unconsciousness, giving him a short time to recuperate, time to drone out the screeching voice with its repetitive message – embrace the hate!_

_Embrace the hate! – but it was pity he felt when he struck down the overseer, it was mercy he felt when he snapped the next apprentice‘s neck, it was relief he felt when the crackling blue bolts engulfed the inquisitor burning him beyond recognition, it was desperation and exhaustion he felt when the purple of his lightsabre lit up the face of the lord who had pierced his shoulder, before he took his head and then his ship._

_You have doomed yourself with your deceit! – but the ship had an escape pod, the explosion of one of the engines masked its exit, the spray of gold and red gave him a headstart._

_Vermin like you is hard to kill! Prepared to die! – but the cloaked wielder of the red lightsabre had missed again, the hits were badly timed and only sliced but not killed, the strike finalizing his existence didn’t come._

_After you, Imp! – he felt confused at the new voice, mechanical, but too emotional to belong to a droid._

A _grey-yellow helmet came into view as the red and black cloak in front of him tumbled to the ground, never to get up again. It wavered into sight along with the gun pointing at his head and then it tilted at a voice coming from his back, but the bolt ending his life didn’t come._

 _He didn’t know the language – Kaysh kadala. Ret kyramla. – it made a step towards him – K'oyacyi_! – _he staggered back and to the side. Where was the other voice coming from? The grey-yellow seemed to be the only stable thing in the wavering of reds – the billowing cloak on the ground, the embers of the downed ship, the humming of the awkwardly snatched lightsabre, the flares of his enflamed back, the searing stings in his shoulder and across his abdomen._

He blinked into the darkness of his room. It was easy to conjure these pictures, too easy. They had never left him, neither when awake nor when asleep. The only difference, in sleep the gun spat red bolts, making his dreamworld exploding in more red.

In his waking hours he could trace the past to the point where his world sunk into blackness. He remembered how the warrior in grey and yellow had lowered their gun, how a disapproving growl from his back had made him step further back to get the bearer of the voice into his line of sight, meagre as it was with the blood streaming down from the gaping laceration on his forehead.

When he was awake he could remember the vague glimpse of the other warrior, the stinging heat of his burning ship, before the blast of its explosion pressed him face down into the dark soil.

_The light in the room was bright, blindingly bright. It was not only a simple room, it was a medbay. Empty cots next to his position, silent medical machines next to them. He felt confined, combusted, compressed. He felt like drifting in space, like floating under a liquid surface._

_He lashed out immediately, half blind. Blinking rapidly didn’t improve his vision, everything kept swimming vaguely before his eyes in a tainted blue. He flailed, half deaf. Sluggishly his fists pounded at the clear cylindrical confinement. He clawed at the mask over his face, turning half crazy in a fit of panic. Stilling only to stare at a movement, a figure which pressed a button on the tank._

Again he blinked into the darkness. Inhaling deeply he tried to get rid of the feeling pressing down on him when he remembered waking in the tank. With the button pressed his world had sunk back into darkness.

_He blinked against the dim light. A softness surrounded his body. His fingers travelled along the even surface he was lying on. It was soft too. His fingers travelled further, caught against a tube, a sting in crook of his elbow had him turn his head towards it, had him follow the line to the infusion stand._

_He felt parched, his lips covered with dry flakes of skin he could easily peel off with his teeth. He looked around. He was alone in the room, no one was there to prevent him from sitting up, no one to hinder him swinging his leg off the cot._

_A distant beeping intensified. He had heard its steady rhythm from the beginning. He started listening to it until his eyes found he source. A machine flickering lines and numbers back at him, and the sound picked up speed._

_He felt dizzy, the room started spinning. He felt wobbly and used the side of the cot to help him to set one foot in front of the other. The tubes grew taunt, he felt the sting in the flesh of his arm, the twinges of the pads on his chest, but the door was closer. A few steps more and he could reach the doorknob._

_It opened to a dim and empty corridor. Cold air surrounded him, made his skin contract and rise to goosebumps. The stands rattled and squeaked behind him. More steps along the corridor, the rattle stopped, the painful irritation increased. He yanked at the tubes, a constant high-pitched sound blared into his already ringing ears._

_Warmth trickled down his arm, tickled his skin. A softly burning sensation spread on his chest. More steps along the corridor, not only his own anymore. Was he walking towards them or was he moving away from them? The footsteps kept rushing closer. He pressed into a doorframe, the cold metal pressed against his bare skin, the cold anew as his legs gave in. He squinted, the corridor got dimmer, the floor came closer._

_White and yellow, and grey and yellow. He looked up into two helmets tilted down at him. – Me’bana? – Iba’di’kut. – He swatted at the hands pulling him upright. He growled as they dragged him back with his arms thrown over their shoulders._

He blinked again and heard the soft padding of Daryc sneaking into his cavern. The cool and moist muzzle pressed against his arm: “What are you doing here? Isn’t your place with the little ones?”

A soft whimper made it past the beast’s throat: “I’m fine. There is nothing to worry about.” He unclasped his arms and ran his fingers through the thick fur. “Maybe you get one more to look after. What do you think … more members to your pack, would that be nice for you?”

He heard the soft rustle as the Boetay settled down next to his bed. With his arm dangling down he was still able to ruffle through the fur on its neck.

“You know, when they found me, they could have just done away with me. In their culture I was no longer a youngling. I wielded a weapon they knew to be used by their enemies, I belonged to their enemies. Still they didn’t let me lie there to die. They took me with them and nursed me back to health.”

A deep inhale and soft purr answered him from the ground. He scratched into the fur and was treated with a lick along his forearm.

“I wouldn’t call myself an easy patient. Definitely not back then. What did I know? I didn’t know what to expect from them. All I knew back then, was that I was weak and defenceless. All I had experienced so far back then, was that such a state was exploited immediately and to all extremes by everybody else.”

When he sat up and swung his legs off the bed Daryc at once settled between his legs, resting her broad head on his thigh. The soft thump of her tail told him to continue running his fingers along her neck.

“If it hadn’t been for the colours of her armour I wouldn’t have recognized her at all. What is a plain helmet compared to an expressive face? She showed me what sympathy looked like, without making me feel pitied.”

When Daryc let go of another whimper, he stood up: “Do you want to go outside? Go for a midnight stroll? Some fresh air might do me good, too.”

He hushed her when she let go of a happy yap: “Stealth was what I could teach them, but there was so much more they taught me. Above all, what it means to be part of something greater. To be long to, instead of fighting against each other.”

While they strolled through the corridors he remained silent. Only outside he returned to his musings: “The first weeks were hard. Recuperating, learning about them and their ways, fighting my inner demons. They must have seen it and they gave me an outlet. First alone, teaching me stances and motion sequences. When I had them mastered, it was staged sparring drilling in the patterns. Soon after that real sparring, but never against the younglings. It was always one of the warriors. And then one day they asked the question. – _Do you want to stay, become one of us and swear to the Creed_? – I had to think about it, but they seemed to have known the answer already. Had I been younger, one of them would have volunteered to become my _buir_. It had just turned sixteen, too old to be a youngling, and so they let me decide. I needed and wanted more guidance. I wanted some one I could turn to and they let me have my pick, made me pick my _buir_.”

Walking along the premises of the forest had Daryc sniff excitedly, but she kept walking along his side.

“Can you imagine how strange that had been, the day of the decision. The master who had taken me as a youngling had never forgotten to remind my that I was a burden, easily crushed when not doing to his bidding and failing his expectations. And on that day there was this row of warriors and all of a sudden I realized that I had trained with each of them. Every single warrior had taught me in the past months. They had got to know me while they had taught me. I had got to know them and it was meant to help me to decide who I would move in with, who I would call family, who I could turn to without fault.”

He looked down to the Boetay hovering next to his hip. Day was slowly approaching and he easily made out the features of the animal. It was time to go back to the cave.

“You know, _buir_ was among them too. I had got used to her grey and yellow armour. And until today I swear that she didn’t really stand in the row. I swear that she stood a notch to the front. Imperceptible to all but me. She made me see her, let me know that she wanted me to be part of her family. After all, it had been her who had decided about my fate initially.”

He looked up and gazed at the changing colours of the sky announcing a new day.

“It is something when you can decide yourself what you want to do, if you want to be a part of something bigger. Having others to decide over your head, without you having a say …”

He looked back down at the animal, its yap was for a quiet rustling within the cave. He gave her a nod and she was off without any hesitation. Alone he turned to watch the sunrise again.

“ … this makes me feel helpless and even useless.”

“What does? Watching a new dawn?”

The modulated bass almost made him jump. He turned to eye Paz: “Ermm yeah, kinda that.”

He turned back again, hoping against all odds that the other brave would leave it to that. But he wasn’t caught by surprise when Paz pressed on.

“Are you going to tell me the real reason?”

“Nope. It’s not relevant.”

“It’s about Rook.” Paz was so confident in his observation and yet he couldn’t have been further off.

He leaning back his head, he sighed: “Yeah. But he’s a member of your tribe, so I’m not relevant.”

He heard the heavy man shuffle his weight behind him: “What if I want to hear your opinion.”

Ducking his head to his chest he looked over his shoulder. All his doubts readable in his raised eyebrows.

“I know that you think I’m overzealous and stubborn. I know that you think I don’t value your opinion, that I think that too much divides us. Yet, here I am, seeking your opinion.”

He eyed the man, his whole posture and stance. Contrary to his normal more dismissive way to stand, Paz had a relaxed way to poise, feet grounded and arms loose at his side.

“Do you need to be filed in?”

He shook his head: “No. Vayra told me what she knew from Tharam.”

A quick smile danced along his lips as the subtle flinch of Paz: “He gave me his name, Vizsla. I don’t use it without him knowing about it.”

“I guess, I’m still unfamiliar with it.”

“I know. It takes time. Like so many things in life.”

He thought back, how unfamiliar he had been with his first armour. How restrictive it had felt compared to his robes. How weighted down he had felt until he had built up the physical powers to bear it as a second skin.

“Are you talking about me or about yourself?” The dull blue helmet tilted in genuine interest.

He shrugged: “I guess it applies to both of us. But you came to talk about Rook.”

He waited until Paz nodded: “You can guess my opinion, though I do appreciate you asking. As you know, wearing helmets is less an issue for Vayra and me than for you. We don’t know what happened. How about you find out about that first.”

Paz nodded again. And he had the impression that it was more gravely.

“How about we send Tharam or Vayra. They could arrange a meeting, somewhere outside the city. Without giving away our location, without prying ears and eyes. There you could take your time to talk to him. Find out about his circumstances.”

He watched the other man’s shoulders rise and lower with an in- and exhale. Paz nodded again: “He’s met Tharam. He should go and prepare the meeting. That is if Rook is interested at all.”

He had to laugh at that: “From what I understood, he just recognized not only a Mandalorian but a specific colour of the armour. He mistook Tharam for his _buir_. He was about to give him a pendant made of Beskar. And you think this man has no wish to meet others of his creed?”

He had Paz chuckling softly: “If you put it like that … Well, I better get Tharam then.”

-*-*-*-

The bass was impossible to ignore. He groaned into the warm neck in front of him: “Make him go away.”

Her grunt was vague: “Not my _vod_.”

He pinched her side and made her squeal. Turning his head away from her to not holler into her ear he told Paz that he would be with him in a few minutes.

When he rushed back into their chamber he was more than unsettled. Paz had given him detailed instructions and a list of supplies they needed, using the credits they had earned the day before. But he had also a plan of his own and for that he needed to go to the cave’s medbay.

He had told Vayra that he would meet them at the shuttle and veered off to his destination. With a quick look around he tried to remember which the correct drawer was.

“Finally using some of your savings?”

He literally jumped at the voice of his older sister and a deep blush spread down his neck to his chest, heating him up like an integrated furnace.

“How much are you going to need?”

He tilted his helmet at her. In all the rush he hadn’t asked, and Rook hadn’t said anything either. He vaguely remembered the other man saying that he should take it. He shrugged his shoulders while he counted credits into his palm.”

“About that size.” Holding up two fingers he indicated the size of the pendant, but kept from her which material it was made of.

Her helmet tilted towards his palm and she nodded. For good measure he added some more credits and it earned him a snorted laugh: “Don’t spend all at once.”

He made sure that what he grumbled didn’t make it past his helmet, it still earned him a smack to the back of his helmet. He made it to the shuttle in record time, not wanting to have Vayra and Paz waiting and getting suspicious. The credits dug against his chest where he had stuffed the bag under his cuirass. It made him shift in his seat which earned him a side glance from Varya.

“Nervous?”

He could honestly answer her question with a quick nod. And when he turned around to look at Paz on one of the seats in the small hull it earned him an encouraging nudge of his blue helmet.

Turning towards the back had alerted her to the other warrior’s presence: “ _Al_ …”

“Paz. You wanted it, then use it.” Paz was quick t interrupt her.

It made him grin widely in return. With an exhale meant to relax him, he settled back in his chair and watched the horizon for the place they had chosen for the meeting.

There they stopped and dropped Paz off. Tharam would meet him there with Rook. The speeder would provide him with a fast means of transport. In the hangar he pulled the speeder out and while Vayra set out to buy their supplies he made his way towards the further end of the market.

He had to go slow. It helped to keep the cloak in place and besides that there were many people on the street and he had to wind his way past them. His eyes skimmed eagerly for the small stall. And it was there, where it had been the last time. A short way off, but still within sight, he found a wall where he could park the speeder.

When he turned he saw the grey fringe obscuring half the face turned towards him. There was no smile, there was no frown in the lined face to see. Rook kept a carefully neutral expression as he walked closer.

Instinctively he adjusted his HUD sensor. The small flat behind the stall was empty, the side alleys hid no one. He lifted his hooded helmet, the roofs were empty. He knew that Rook was watching him closely so he didn’t hide his scanning and made a slow full turn, scanning the whole area. But he came to the same conclusion. Besides the people following their daily business and chores, bustling about and hustling to and fro, he saw no one lingering, neither did his system pick up on anything.

He drew closer and came to a stand in front of the stall: “The pendant with the relief, is it still up for sale?”

Rook slowly nodded and equally slowly reached beneath the small stall. He didn’t know what had him so tense, but it made his hand hover next to his blaster.

“Relax. I told no one. There is no one I could tell, anyway.” Rook presented the small tray again and pulled back the velvety cloth.

“Why, is there no one who you could have told?” He knew it was a silly question to ask, but he had to start somewhere.

“This is not a story to be told out here on the streets. We could …” Rook nudged his head back towards his flat.

But he shook his head: “I am to bring you to someone who is interested in your story, too. Close up and come with me. Then you can tell us both.”

“But first I’d like to purchase this pendant.” He noted how cautious Rook became.

The old man suddenly shook his head: “This better waits until you know everything. Maybe you change your opinion.”

He didn’t understand what Rook meant, but on request he helped him closing his stall, transferring his items into his small flat. Getting him onto the bike with his stiff leg was less cumbersome than getting him and his crutch to settle comfortably and safely.

Using the gate opening to the east, it didn’t take him long to reach their meeting point. Against the rock formation Paz was hard to make out and Rook seemed to have not noticed him at all as he brought the speeder to a halt. He climbed off the seat and helped the other man off, too.

When he turned towards Paz and Rook followed his example, he didn’t miss how the older man sucked in his breath.

“I was told that you recognized my _vod_ even with his disguise. I was further told that you addressed him with the name of one long gone marching. A name only known to us.”

He watched as Jintar Rook’s pale blue eye raked over the blue armour. Being not in the man’s focus gave him more time to observe him. It wasn’t like he had seen many others without their helmets, but he guessed that this man could easily be the oldest living Mandalorian he had ever come across.

“I’m sure you have many questions.” Rook’s gaze never left the tall form of Paz.

Paz only nodded, and somehow he got tenser than before: “Actually so many that I don’t know where to start.”

“How about I prove to be who I claim to be? And not only with this.” Same as the day before, Rook rolled up his sleeve and showed Paz his tattoo.

He grinned beneath his helmet. The old man was shrewd, he knew that they wanted proof beyond the obvious. A tattoo like his coiled vexis could have easily been copied. With Paz relaxing his tension somewhat he realised that Rook was on a good way. The more he unveiled without being asked, the more likely it was that Paz looked upon him in a favourable way.

“As this might take longer, I’d appreciate if I could sit down. This leg doesn’t work any longer as it should.” Paz nodded curtly and after a short while they had found a suitable rock for Rook to sit on. Even Paz made himself comfortable, leaning against a larger stone formation.

He kept within earshot, yet his eyes scanned the surrounding. He would have hated to get sneaked upon and interrupted by anyone passing by, no matter how far off they were from the actual road. Yet the more Rook proceeded to lay his life bare, the more he was drawn to listening instead of watching.

Rook had started off with his early youth. There was nothing out of the extraordinary, given his age. He had been born on Mandalore, his parents had been creed-born, he had been their only child and they hadn’t adopted another. As any other youth he had started his training at the regular age of eight. Even though he had no interest in politic, but due to his clan’s affiliation with clan Kast and his own clan’s doings he had joined the Mandalorian resistance and been pulled into the consequently erupting civil war.

He tuned out as Rook relived more of the to and fro of his youth and early years. Then a name fell – Tror, Tror Tern – and he was all ears again as Rook told about their time together. His father had never told much about what he did and had to endure outside their home. He had always made sure that his children didn’t see him at his worst. Tired and worn-out, yes. Patched up and wrapped in bandages, yes. This couldn’t be prevented. And suddenly many incidents he still remembered made more sense with Rook filling the blanks.

He didn’t notice that he was drawing closer during Rook’s tale of his _buir’s_ last day. He didn’t realize that wet streaks were covering his cheeks as he got to know how the slugs and bolts had torn through his _buir’s_ body. He didn’t notice that he held his breath as Rook disclosed how he had tried to pull him back into the trench.

It was impossible for him to not see the scene unfold before his inner eyes – he saw, he heard, the smelt – not with the details Rook conjured.

“… we had made it almost back to the trench when they started using the heavy explosives. Time doesn’t slow, I wish it had. Everything was like in a rush, they only needed a few rounds to get into range. The next thing I knew, was that something ripped away my legs underneath me, that something tore into my left side, everywhere exposed and not covered by Tror’s body. I hadn’t meant to, but he had shielded me. The only thing I could do was roll him into the trench before I passed out.”

He was drowning – at least it felt like it. He gasped for breath and his vocoder gave a pitiful sound. Paz’s visor turned towards him, tilting with a silent question, he could only shake his head.

“I don’t know what happened then, I was out cold. When I came to it was night. I was lying further away and had to crawl to the trench, but Tror was no longer lying in it, or anywhere near. The Imps had closed in, the place was crawling with them. I saw a Tie-fighter and a pair of guards around, heard them boasting how they had wiped us out, how they bragged about all the Beskar they had salvaged.”

How or when he had sunk to his knees he didn’t know. The heels of his boots dug into his tense muscles, his hands held his knees in an iron grip.

They had brought his and Tulata’s _buir_ to their quarters. They had covered him in a dark blanket and before they left to give them their private time they had forbidden them to lift it. They had only been allowed to lift his helmet to say their goodbyes. Then they had come again and taken his body with them. But he had seed the dirt, some of it had remained on the floor. He had seen the blood, pools of it had painted the floor. He had seen it and Tulata had not been quick enough to avert his attention. Hidden he had watched her attempt to clean the floor, to wash the stains.

When or why he had started to mumble the remembrance he couldn’t say. The constant whisper of his mumbling gave him a sense of stability.

When he had come off age he had seen the armour again, for the first time after all these years. He had been told that it had been Tror’s and his wish that he should have and wear it.

“It’s shameful, I should have verified, I should have stayed and taken some Imps along. But I didn’t, I hadn’t. I saw the Tie-fighter as my only chance. I can’t even remember how I got into it, or how I steered it. Don’t remember where or how I landed it. So much I didn’t remember. When I woke up again, I didn’t even know my name.”

He tried to concentrate on what Rook was telling them. He tried to forget about the pictures in his head.

“It turned out that I had landed on Phindar. They told me that when they had found the ship crash-landed that they had wanted to kill me off. But one of them recognized my feverish babbling as our language and they decided to spare me for the time being. But when I was coherent again I was not of much use. I had ama … amnas …

Paz tilted his head and helped out: “Amnesia?”

“Yes, amnesia. I couldn’t remember. But I dreamt and they listened to my dreams. First they tried to wake me up, but when they found out that they learnt more from me dreaming than while I was awake they just let me be.”

“Clever, not considerate, but clever.” Paz nodded and hummed.

“They wrote everything down and bit by bit I was able to put the puzzle together. Names and places started to make sense and I began to remember and I began to understand. The worst day was when I understood that they had found me without any armour. I searched the ship for it, but it was empty. And then I understood that the Imps had thought me dead and stripped me of my armour.”

His throat made a rumbling sound and Paz also growled.

“I … I would have understood if it had been Beskar, but it wasn’t, just Dura-steel. Still they took it. The only piece of Beskar on my body … they hadn’t taken it, probably hadn’t found it. They just searched the pockets and took what they saw. They didn’t look beneath the suit. … It was my last connection and when the Phindian gave it back to me, I fell into a limbo. Everything I had ever known had been taken from me … to the point of not even being able to go back if I had the chance to. Although my body healed … it was the only thing that healed.”

The light caught on something in Rook’s hand. He watched as the old man twirled the leather cord, he watched as the sun got caught in the beast’s relief. And then Rook lifted it into his palm for both of them to see.

“When I was able to leave the sickbed I was allowed to wander about. More often than not I ended up at their smith’s. And he started to teach me. When I was good enough I made this, from the last piece that connected me with my old life. They only piece of Beskar, the only piece they had wanted but not found and taken.”

Rook looked over to him: “Now you know what’s behind this pendant. It had been a mythosaur skull and I changed it into this beast’s head. The skull was of no use to me anymore. It was the last tie and I severed it, like everything else that had been severed from me. Now you know why told you to wait, because I thought … think that you won’t want it anymore. Especially when … if it is for your _riduur_.”

He didn’t know what to think, least what to say as his face heated up.

“Why did you offer it to him first place?” He was thankful that Paz was able to form the question that had swirled in his head without him realising it.

“ _N’eparavu takisit_. I didn’t think. I only … heard the modulator. I only saw … this glimpse of armour. Beskar belongs the Mandalorians. I-I’m no longer … I d-don’t have the r-right to own it any-anymore. But … I understand how undesirable it is for a true warrior to … have something from a _dar’manda_ like me.”

He realized that his mouth was working like a fish on dry land without getting any sound out and snapped it shut. He would have never given it a second thought, especially not when not knowing about the circumstances. But now … would he mind? Honestly he couldn’t say.

“You never tried to find … survivors of the purge?” The calculated, even cold voice of Paz broke his train of thought.

“It had been months till I started remembering the first things. And by then the news had even reached Phindar. I was convinced that I had no place to go back to. Due to the purge … and due to my state. Honestly, who would have wanted me around. I had lost my armour and thus my honour and my soul. I had lost my ability to fight and to provide.”

Rook stood up with a soft groan and shifted his weight until an audible popping sound could be heard.

“It has taken its time until I was able to come to terms with the situation, at least somewhat. I didn’t want to appear on someone’s threshold arousing their loathing or even worse their pity. I might have lost everything, but I’ve never lost my pride.”

The first steps Rook took resembled more a hobbling than a proper walk. Gesturing along his left side he continued: “Everything takes its toll. And some things stay to be a constant reminder.”

Rook turned towards him and he looked up from his hunched position.

“He didn’t make it, did he? He _was_ your _buir_ , wasn’t he?

He only shook his head and tried to push away the images in his mind: “He was … he had gone marching when they brought him to us to …”

He had to stand up, his knees had started hurting, from his position and from his iron grip. He paced in a half circle, eyes trimmed to anything far distance than to the two men in his close vicinity. He kept telling himself that it was important to know everything about the old man, but he would have never imagined getting flung back into the past that harshly.

Tulata had been there for him. And he had grabbed onto her desperately. For her it had been a recollection of the loss of a parent. She had been about his age when Tror had been left as their only _buir_. She had taken over the tasks and he had been content to turn to her when Tror was not available.

Missing Tror as a father figure had him soon look for other Mando’ade who could at least partly fill the void, though there hadn’t been many. Actually only two. Paz had never turned him down, not even when he had come off age, sworn the Creed and donned the helmet. He looked towards the towering heavy infantry and, like so many times in the past, got an encouraging nod in return.

The other Mando’ade had been the other beroya, Din. They had grown up together, trained together, joined the corps and started their hunting only with a few years difference. He had been his guiding beacon during the first hunts. He had instructed and trained him. He had accompanied him on his first hunts, had made him trail along, had made him – step by step – take on more responsibility until he had been prepared enough to do hunts on his own.

He shook himself out of the reverie, a completely different problem was at hand. He concentrated again on Rook. The old man’s face was a mask modelled from wrinkles, lines and scars. He was looking at his toes. And he took it upon himself to gather more information.

“So, how did you end up here on Garos?”

“The Phindians were nice enough, they nurtured me back to health, they taught and gave me a new purpose. I thought that I had to pay them back somehow. My legs won’t work as they used to, but my hands still do. And with their approval I set out to look for places where I could sell my crafts, returning at intervals with what I earned and goods they want me to get for them. Garos isn’t the only place I visit in the Mid Rim. I traded the Tie-fighter and started travelling. Maybe selling my products was not my only motivation. Maybe deep down I had hoped that something like this would happen.”

Rook’s eye flickered up to meet Paz’s and his visor and he added with a weary sigh: “A hope and dread at the same time.”

“And this has continued ever since … back then?” The _al’verde’s_ question was answered with a simple nod.

“And you have never met any others, any other Mando’ade?” A simple shake answered Paz’s next question.

“Your _vod_ is the first I saw since … that day. But large markets have never been a place that attracted … u ... Mando’ade. He also hid beneath a cloak. If he had just passed by I would have never known. I don’t want to … I don’t believe that there are no others. They can’t have wiped out all of … the Creed. They are … hiding … like you are. “

A familiar sound got louder and he craned his neck to see the shuttle landing in a safe distance. Vaguely he could make out her face before it vanished behind the black mask. Rook looked astonished and scared at the same time. Sweat broke out on his brows and his head swivelled between them and the small ship. Only as they didn’t react perturbed he settled down again.

“You were expecting someone?”

Paz gave him a slow nod: “There are others besides us. But that is for another time to tell … That is, if you wish to know and agree to another meeting.”

He watched his _al’verde_ , but it was impossible to read anything from his demeanour. The only thing he knew, was that Paz would certainly call them together this evening, that they would relate what they knew to the others, that they would discuss the further progress and actions.

He watched as Rook lowered his head again and closed his eyes. He was breathing deeply, measuredly. He knew this way of breathing, it was meant to calm the nerves, every warrior had been taught to breathe like that before hunts, before battles.

Over the quietness Vayra’s approaching steps could easily be heard and it made Rook look up again and study her. When the old man’s head slowly turned to regard him with his good eye, he gave him a slow nod. He know that Rook was able to link the obvious.

But Vayra’s helmet was trained on Paz, she wanted to know if he agreed with her approach, which he gave her with a quick nod. He noted as Rook’s eye lingered on her armour, as it took in the details, probably searching his memory of any resemblances.

“We will talk about this meeting to the others …”

Rook spun back to Paz.

“… but so far I don’t see anything speaking against another meeting. Meanwhile you can think about how _you_ would like to progress.”

“I’m soon to back to Phindar. Afterwards?”

Paz nodded agreeing: “He will bring you back. We will find you when you are back.”

“Thank you, very much appreciated.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> al’verde: commander  
> nayc beskar’gam: no armour  
> verd: warrior, soldier  
> vod: brother; comrade, mate  
> cyare: beloved  
> buir: parent; father, mother  
> Kaysh kadala. Ret kyramla.: He is hurt. Maybe it’s fatal.  
> K'oyacyi!: Hang in there! Lit. Stay alive ! (command)  
> Me’bana?: What happened?  
> Iba’di’kut: What an idiot.  
> riduur: spouse, wife, husband  
> N’eparavu takisit: sorry (lit: I eat my insult)  
> dar'manda: state of not being Mandalorian – not an outsider, but one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity and his soul – regarded with absolute dread by most traditional-minded Mando’ade


	46. Green is agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Garos group separates for a limited amount of time - for different reasons and Tulata remembers how Tharam caused trouble for Din.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song list will be added (sorry lots of work atm)

They waited until Tharam came back and she kept her silence as the two men in the small hull started discussing how to deal with Rook.

For the short time she had watched the three men and especially Rook, she had felt their tautness. But there were more underlayers. Tern more or less flooded her with a sadness she had never experienced roll off him. Rook on the contrary was a dichotomy of resignation and desperation on the one side and hope on the other side. The only constant of the trio had been Paz, but she felt how wrapped up he had been between his way and the new situation.

She knew what she had been doing when she had probed deeper into the old man. What she had got had made her almost retreat immediately. She hadn’t been prepared for the onslaught of pain, desperation, and loss and all were genuine. Also, the tiny sliver of hope that flickered like a candle in a dark cave, it was sincere. It might have been tiny, but it gave her some peace of mind back and she pulled away from the old man.

She was sure that the others would be safe when dealing with Rook and for him, she hoped that any decision would be in favour of the old man. Maybe she could help Paz and Tharam, maybe her revelation would clear any incertitude they had.

“Whatever he told you, he … didn’t lie to you.”

Paz had to lean forward to look past Tharam: “What makes you so sure about it? Your sorcery?”

She could only huff to do away with the swift spark of anger: “Pfft. Yeah. My sorcery. Felt it. He was genuine, there was no pretence. I haven’t heard his story, but he felt desperate, forlorn, lonely, hopeless until you mentioned another meeting. There was a spark then. I don’t know what you are going to decide, but there is one thing I’d like to ask: If possible, don’t extinguish this spark. It was pure and the only lively thing in him.”

She didn’t know if she should take the grunt as an affirmation, but she had spoken her mind and it was as far as she wanted to get involved. If she had a say, and she knew she wouldn’t be alone there, she would welcome Rook, ask him whether he wanted to stay with them. It wouldn’t be any issue for her if he wanted a replacement for his armour. Armours!

She started to swear, loudly. Loud enough for both men to hear and it made them jump into action, both asking in unison: “What’s wrong!”

“Fine, everything is fine! There is nothing to worry about!” She all but screamed back at them.

It made Tern join her in the cockpit. His helmet inquiringly turned towards her, undoubtedly watching her intensely. It made him reach out, palm up, waiting for her to place her hand into his.

She gave him a firm and asserting squeeze: “I … uhmm … it’s untimely. It’s just that something crossed my mind. I’ll tell you later.”

She didn’t want Paz to feel excluded, but she didn’t want to rush things either: “I can tell you after you have decided.”

When they were back at the cave, Paz and Tern didn’t waste time to gather the other adults. To give them privacy and time she convinced her father to go for a walk with her and Daryc. But they weren’t left alone. As soon as it was clear that the Boetay would accompany them, all the youngling but Skilla and Ardill tagged along.

They wore the kids out, initiating games, making them complete little quests, they even detected a smaller cave and went exploring. They did everything to keep them occupied and help them pass the time until a small sound of the commlink told them that the others had finished their meeting.

She was curious if Paz would tell them about their decision. She had been intrigued when her father told her that Paz had talked to him already. But both knew that they wouldn’t interfere in the tribe’s decision.

Her heart was beating heavily when they reached the cave again and the heavy infantry asked them to join him in the common area.

“Dargak, you said that you have set up some beacons already?”

Astonished she looked between the two tall men and before she could think she blurted out: “I thought this is about Rook?”

Paz nodded shortly: “Also about him. We must find the survivors from Nevarro as soon as possible. So that they don’t … have to share the same fate. And maybe we find others … like him. It would make things easier… Maybe … we have also been thinking … that if they don’t want to stay with us that maybe …as it is more normal …”

“That they could stay on Ossus.”

She looked towards her father. The option he had brought into play made sense and she nodded approvingly. Of course, he would have to ask the _alor_ , but knowing the liberal way of her tribe, she didn’t think that they would object. Rook with his talents as a smith could be a provide for himself and others. Something they could actually also use if their tribe here on Garos was to get bigger.

 _Their_ tribe – she stilled. Since when had she started to think of being part of the Nevarro tribe?

-*-*-*-

He wouldn’t have thought it to be so simple and smooth. He could feel a lingering resentment in Paz, but obviously, he had been overruled by the others. Namely, he made the Terns responsible. Why Tharam would vote for the acceptance of a helmetless and even disgraced Mando’ad he could easily guess, why his sister would though, he didn’t know. The Rulls were a completely unknown factor to him. They were friendly enough, both had been interested in learning about his interpretation of the Resol’nare, but would they welcome one of their former own, he didn’t know.

So far, they had met only one other of the Creed, so far only a tiny area was covered by the beacons. If they wanted to start their search in earnest, he needed to set up more, he needed to get them ready and get travelling.

“You want me to set up the next beacons? Just tell me where and I – we can be on our way.”

He gestured between his daughter and himself. Somehow, he took it for granted that this task would fall upon them.

But Paz shook his head and his gloved hand pointed first to him and then to himself: “We. Dantooine.”

“Dantooine?!”

He only got a curt nod: “When will you be ready?”

He quickly calculated: “Depending on how many beacons you want to set, in two or three days.”

Vayra was more than displeased when Paz insisted on her staying on Garos. She fretted over her ship and was very thorough in her instructions of how to handle the Keldabe. It made him slightly nervous and it didn’t help that she kept on fussing. She even insisted on going on a training flight which made him laugh in the end. If she wanted to test him, she would get a little surprise. She hadn’t approved of all his manoeuvres, but at least she was appeased afterwards.

And they left on the third day. He could have laughed at Vayra’s scrunched up face, and the glare she shot Paz. Sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, Paz had obviously seen it, because an amused low rumble filled the room.

When they had left the atmosphere of Garos he checked on the computer’s course and cursed inwardly. Why for maker’s sake Paz wanted to continue with the beacons around Dantooine didn’t make any sense to him. But after a few moments of pondering he shrugged it off, maybe the heavy infantry had some intel he didn’t care to share.

As soon as he engaged the hyperdrive he went to the cargo bay and busied himself with the material he had taken along. In one crate he had gathered the technical material to construct more beacons on the way, the other was filled with his carving utensils. Even the shortest and fastest way would have them in hyperspace long enough to get bored easily.

It didn’t take long until Paz joined him. And he was deft assembling the components for the devices. In the beginning, they worked in silence, both of them content with keeping their fingers busy. Once he had to change the hyperlane to adjust his course he stayed in the cockpit while he was travelling in sublight. He was buried in thought when suddenly the ship’s alarm blared.

“What’s that?” Paz came storming into the cockpit: “Are we getting attacked?”

“No. Just the far-range approach detector. Set them. Just in case.”

“Who is coming then?”

“I don’t know. We are out of range for them still. But we are crossing New Republican territory. So it doesn’t leave much to guessing. But I got it covered, so far we are just an object for them.”

He pulled in the computer: “They are still far away for us to prevent detection.”

“They have already detected us, or why else are the drawing closer!”

He was at least as nervous as Paz but concentrating on the systems and engaging them just as Vayra had shown him helped him to go steadily through the sequence: “Engaging cloaking system. Now!”

The lights of the computer indicated the engaged systems although to his eyes everything appeared as before. The only difference was in how the ship swerved, it was on a minor zig-zag course which seemed to be almost random.

The minutes ticked by and they waited, then they saw them. A spread-out formation of x-wings, a patrol of four of the New Republic. They were approaching slowly. He tried to calculate the course the Keldab would take. A pearl of sweat formed on his brow and trickled down along his temple. It would be tight, they could make it, but it would be really tight.

The distance reduced more and more. In the quietness he could hear Paz increased breathing, he was holding his own and his lungs started to burn. His hands hovered other the levers and over the buttons. If they didn’t make it past them, he would have to react immediately, change course, punch in the hyperdrive, and hope for the best.

Closer and closer, the fast fighters didn’t change their positions. They could really make it, just between the third and fourth fighter, this was where their course would lead them through.

To him, it felt like they were inching past the x-wings. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but he didn’t dare to look left or right as if that would draw the pilots’ attention. Only when they had glided past, did he let go of a deep exhale, just to inhale deeply again.

“They haven’t seen us at all.” The aw in Paz’ voice was unmistakeably.

He himself could barely believe that the cloak had worked that well. Nevertheless, he was glad to be able to jump into hyperdrive again. Just to be on the safe side, he made sure that the system cloaked them whenever they had to leave it while they were setting the beacons.

With those which he had made during their trip, they were even able to take a detour. Much to Paz’s displeasure he set the new coordinates.

“This is almost in the core! You must be crazy! Ord Mantel is close enough, but Coruscant?! You are asking for trouble!”

He calmed himself before he turned towards the dull blue armour next to him: “I have the perfect number of beacons, the cloaking system works perfectly, and once near Coruscant we can take the Perlemian Trade Route and get out in no time. Sooner or later we do have to get closer to the core. Who knows, maybe someone has thought along the line to keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Who would guess that Mandalorians were hiding right in their middle? I think the guess is not as wild as you think.”

He watched as Paz crossed his arms and slid down in his seat: “Fine. But you’ll take the blame if this doesn’t work out. I wouldn’t want to be in your skin if anything happened to her ship!”

“Believe me, no one would want to be in that person’s skin, no matter how little time they would have left in it.”

A dark, but disbelieving chuckle came from his right: “She’s that bad?”

He turned, very slowly, first only his head, then the whole chair. His own voice only a hoarse whisper: “Worse.”

“Well, it is your skin. Set the course and let’s over with it.”

He nodded and set the course to Ord Mantel, although it doubled the time, they would be away from Garos. Just before he went back into hyperspace, he set off the scrambled message to inform Vayra and the others. When he got her answer back, he read it aloud, he wanted Paz to hear it: “If there is only the slightest scratch or dent, I will have your head.”

It made Paz bark out a laugh. He watched the large man’s shaking shoulder and his own hand went spontaneously to rub his neck while he mumbled: “Wouldn’t be the first.”

-*-*-*-

Rarely had her seen that upset. He had the notion that it topped off something he wasn’t privy to. That Paz had decided to ground her to Garos nagged at her pride and feeling of independence, and he decided that for the rest of the day it was best to not cross her. What had him upset was that he became another victim of Paz’s decision.

He called Silla and Ardill and occupied himself with the duties Paz had given him, namely their training. But there was still so much time left that he decided to take them on a cross country race to test their stamina. He better hadn’t. Their advantage was definitely that their training armour weighed close to nothing and he swore to himself that he wouldn’t make this mistake a second time. His flightsuit clung to his sweaty body and he felt each muscle in his legs as he dragged himself into the cave.

He didn’t catch a glimpse of Vayra, but Tulata could inform him that she had retreated early. He grinned under his helmet, he smiled as he made his way to the fresher area and he whistled a soft tune while the water gushed down on his body.

But when he entered their cavern he stopped at the entrance and his smile faltered. Her whole posture was tense as she sat propped up against the headboard still fully clothed. She shot him a quick glance from the datapad before she lowered her gaze again.

He could see it in her furrowed brows, it reflected in her tightly set jaw and he could read it on the thin line of her lips, she was still seething. Quietly he laid down his clothes over the back of the chair, and still only clad in his helmet and a towel around his hips he padded to the bed.

The light from the datapad was bright enough to keep him from removing his helmet, but he didn’t say a word while she flipped through the pages. He wondered how he could distract her and brighten her mood. But when he silently inched his hand closer to touch her arm she pulled away and inched further to the edge of the bed.

He sighted and despite knowing better asked: “What did I do wrong?”

She simply scoffed, she had detected his try to gain her attention: “Nothing.”

He tried again. “Do you want to talk to me about it?”

With a grunt, she declined.

He sat up again: “Look, I understand that you are angry about Paz’s decision, but as the _al’verde_ …”

“Fuck the _al’verde_! Not everything is about him! But it’s my ship! He just fucking decided over my head about MY ship!”

“ _Ner meshurok_ …” Again, he tried to reach out, to which she retreated again.

“I’m not going to talk about it. And no matter what you say, it won’t get any better.”

“But …” He fell silent at her raised hand motioning to stop.

“Not. Now.” With that she switched the datapad off, cloaking them in darkness.

He heard her shift to turn around and sighed as he pulled off his helmet. Crossing his arms behind his neck he stared up into the blank void. Listening to her breathing until it evened out was all he could do. For once he cursed the wideness of their bed which made it possible for her to keep out of his reach as long as he didn’t crowd her in. And that was the last thing he wanted to do.

When he woke, her side of the bed was already empty and cold. He shook his head as a feeling of frustration crept up in him and he realized that he wouldn’t see much of her on that day. Busying himself with the daily chores was a way to keep his mind occupied, but he caught himself looking for her more or less constantly.

His daydreaming became so obvious that Bril took over the drill lesson of the older younglings and sent him off to tend to the smallest ones and Daryc. With toys stuffed into his utility belt, a blanket thrown over his right shoulder, some pillows stuck under the right arm, Liom’s hand wrapped round two of his fingers, and the toddler safely placed on his left hip he whistled for the Boetay and made his way towards the edge of the forest where he found a place under the broad canopy of an old tree.

Getting everything onto his person with the help of Fina had been fine. Now he stood in the protection of the leaved roof and jostled the toddler on his hip while he spread out the blanket. Liom really tried to be of some help but standing on the blanket while he tried to even it out didn’t help much. And then there was Daryc who nipped at a corner of the blanket as he was about to flip it out and started a war of tug.

He growled at the Boetay to let go. Her ears twitched forward, and she tilted her massive head, but she didn’t let go of the corner she had in her muzzle. He tugged at it and Daryc started in earnest. He yelped as he felt his legs yanked from under him. His grip on the toddler tightened and his right hip hit the ground hard.

He groaned at the Boetay when she took one jump at him, pressed her paws into his chest, and started licking across his visor. The toddler in his arms giggled loudly and patted wildly at both the Boetay and his cuirass.

“At least you are enjoying yourself, _ad’ika_.”

He looked over to Liom who stood still like a statue, staring at him baffled with his green eyes. He didn’t know what the small boy was seeing, but his eyes started to water. Swatting Daryc away he wriggled up, still holding onto the toddler, to sit next Liom.

“Hey! What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

With careful fingers curling around the boy’s chin he forced him to look into his visor. He tilted his head and wiggled his helmet: “There is nothing to cry about. Nothing bad happened. See, I’m fine.”

He let go of the boy and moved his limps one after the other, eliciting a shriek of delight from the toddler at being jostled and moved about. When he had folded his legs, he turned to Liom and spread his arm, beckoning him closer with his fingers in a come-hither motion.

Keeping his voice low he cooed: “Come, do you want to tell me what has you crying?”

Liom didn’t need a second invite and flung his little body into his embrace. He kept on soothing the little boy and tried to make him talk. But Liom only sniffled into the crook of his neck, not letting on what had him upset about the incident.

He settled on the still bunched-up blanket and eased the toddler onto one of the pillows and when he slid back to have the tree support his back he lifted a leg over and around the smaller child who was then safely confined between his bent and slightly lifted knees.

Sighing he knew that sooner or later he would get a cramp, but as long the toddler was fine, he was too. With his free hand, he pulled the toys from his belt and offered them to the waiting youngling. A plain rattle caught her attention, and her chubby hands grabbed for it. He knows that it will end up in her mouth and dug out a clean cloth.

Liom was still pressing his face into the fabric at his neck. His sniffles drew Daryc closer.

“Careful Daryc. Just lie down.” He patted the ground and waited until the large animal laid down.

Her head came to rest on the apex of his thigh. When she was settled completely, she gave him a soft whine. Now, if Liom stopped his sobbing he could relax completely. The warmth of the day, the small weight in his arm and against his knee, the Boetay’s body heat seeping into him along with an almost sleepless night were not a good combination to stay awake.

And when the small weight in his arm started to get heavier, the sobs sparer until they quietened completely and the small arm nestled into the front of his neckscarf fell it didn’t take long for his helmet to tilt forward too.

-*-*-*-

She was in the kitchen preparing first-meal when she heard Vayra shuffle into the large cave. Out of the corner of her eyes she watched the younger woman help herself to some caff. When she was done, she turned and eyed her as she slumped down in one of the wooden chairs. Vayra hadn’t said anything and her grumpy impression told her to not address her, at least not until the mug was half empty.

She filled a mug for herself and sat down on the chair opposite, using the opportunity to study the woman from Ossus. Ever since they had returned, she had noted a slight difference in Vayra’s behaviour. She still smiled and interacted with everyone, but it felt more reserved. Her brother had told her about their adventures and also about the pyre for the armours, but she got the notion that there was something else.

She was eyed by Vayra over the rim of the mug to which she clung to with both hands, it had something desperate to it. And it made her wish even more that she could gain the other woman’s trust. So far, they hadn’t had many chances to talk. Most of the time there had been someone to tend to and the one time, while still on the Keldab, hadn’t gone smoothly at all. It made her wish that she knew Vayra better, to know a topic she could easily start with, something they had a common ground on.

But it was difficult. She had witnessed the flare of anger and her seething words directed at Paz. She had watched as Dargak had relentlessly turned her towards him and talked soothingly until she had led him into her ship. She had observed how Vayra had retreated the night before, alone, and now she was sitting in the kitchen area, again alone.

She waited until Vayra was almost done with her caff before she cleared her throat. Green eyes peered from beneath dark eyebrows at her.

“If you want, I could talk to him – Paz – about the trip … why he didn’t take you along.”

Vayra’s head came up with a sudden movement and her green eyes seemed to find hers behind her dark visor. She stared for a while, then she shook her head and started to stand up.

“There are others who are willing to listen.” She waited until Vayra looked at her again: “I mean Tharam or me.”

She feared she had overwhelmed Vayra when the woman in the black armour tilted back her head and let go of her deep inhale in a grunted sigh.

“No. Everything’s fine. I’m fine. They’ll return and everything will be fine. I … I need some space, if there are no tasks for me, … I’ll be back bef … I’ll be back.”

She didn’t only want to watch as Vayra left: “I’ll be there when you are ready to talk.”

Vayra stopped immediately and looked over her shoulder, giving her a glance, which didn’t really meet, before she wordlessly disappeared from her sight.

By the time she had had her first meal in privacy and helped the younglings to their meals, her brother stalked into the common area. She knew what his swivelling helmet meant, he was looking for Vayra. She could only inform him that she had already left and watched him storm outside.

Later she had followed him, just to observe the distracted figure he cut. It would have been funny, if she didn’t know how helpless he felt. Bril’s decision to make him watch over the youngest could be a good distraction for him and she helped him to gather the blanket, pillows, and toys. When Tharam went to find a place for the younglings and himself she gave him a head start before she quietly followed and watched him. Her fond smile grew as she observed his struggle to deal with the blanket, the young ones, and the large animal.

She was so preoccupied with the scene that Fina’s voice startled her: “Adorable.”

“Yes, they are. He’s always been especially patient with the youngest foundlings.”

Fina giggled slightly embarrassed: “I know. That’s why I daydreamed about him … back then.”

She turned to look at the woman in the maroon armour: “But then a certain other _verd_ came and you fell hard.”

She followed Fina’s gaze, of course, she was looking where her _riduur_ trained the other younglings.

“Do you remember when he had that Mooka?”

Her mouth twitched, corner pulled up into a smile, lips opened to a widening grin, then she couldn’t suppress the laugh anymore: “You mean when he smuggled it into the premises and dug a hole for himself and … Din? Even later it caused an uproar at all the things that suddenly and mysteriously vanished or got destroyed? Oh yes! I remember very well.”

 _Of course, she had to back up her_ kih’vod. _Even though she didn’t always agree with his actions. And this latest antic went against the_ No animals on the premises _policy of their clan. It was not that there were no animals at all. Many families had pets, but the clan had to agree, at least in their case. She could understand him well for wanting something he could cling to, something other than herself after their_ buir _had gone marching._

 _They discovered the hurt Mooka pub on one of their walks, but she told him that he couldn’t take it with them. Tharam’s face scrunched up in disappointment and anger. He screamed at her –_ it is hurt! it needs help and it’s all alone! – s _he had to grab his hand and pull him home. The tantrum he threw had many adults watching._

_Their tilted helmets told her of their sympathy. Barely three years older she had to be a surrogate parent to her six-year-old brother and often she felt like she wasn’t enough. Just like now, as she dragged a bawling Tharam back towards their quarters._

_“Tharam, we can’t have a pet. When you … we are older and can make our own living, then we can adopt one. How would you feed it and care for it? Without Tror the clan is already sustaining us, we can’t add another mouth to feed on their list.”_

_Her heart wept at the red-rimmed hazel eyes that looked up at her: “But … but it is alone … and hurt.”_

_“It isn’t badly hurt. Give it a few days and it can easily look for its food again. It’s not like it has to hunt. It will find enough left-overs on the fields now that the harvest has been brought in.”_

_His tears left streaks on his puffy cheeks and when he blinked more tears spilt over: “But it is hungry now!”_

_She sighed deeply as her resolve caved in: “Okay. We get something to treat its wounds and a bag with cereals which you can feed it with. But you won’t bring it here! Do you hear me!”_

_Brown strands danced wildly as he eagerly nodded, and she had barely gathered the bag with the grain when it was ripped from her hand and he bolted out of the door. She had to run after him. For someone still so small he was quick as a flash. But as long as she kept him in her line of sight she was relaxed, she knew where his way would lead him._

_While he fed the Mooka she kept her distance and let him feed the small animal. When it was time, she drew closer to help him to apply the salve the_ baar’ur _had given her. The soothing effect of the ointment and his strokes over his feathery neck had the animal soon close its eyes._

_“Thar’ika, it is time to go. Let it sleep. When it wakes, it will feel better.”_

_It was only because he didn’t want to disturb the Mooka that he left without further ado, although he constantly looked back and checked if it didn’t wake up again. But it wasn’t his lucky day, or that was what she had thought back then._

_She should have smelt a womp rat when he went to bed without a fuss. But she was simply glad. It had been a long day for her. Her first day with the_ baar’ur _and as soon as she hit the pillow she was out._

_Only later, much later he had confessed what had happened that night._

_He waited until her breathes had evened out. He had everything prepared, even an excuse why he was up again in case she woke up. Quietly he slipped off his bunk and out of their shared bedroom. Looking up and down the short hallway he made sure that it was empty too. When he reached the main door, he again looked around carefully, making sure he was alone. His short feet moved quickly as he rushed towards the outer gate. Only a few steps more and he would reach the small hole in the fence where a small bush covered the breach._

_Only a few steps more and he could creep through the tiny gap. He reached it, held his breath, and looked around, making sure he didn’t give away his escape route. Then he lowered himself into the bush and shuffled through the leafy twigs and through the hole. Once again, he made sure that no one was around before he fled from the shrubbery._

_Making himself as small as possible he rushed through the streets and alleys to where he had last seen the Mooka. A small cry of joy escaped him as he still saw the small creature lie under the steps between the rubble. And just as the two times before, he slowly crept forwards. And just like the last time he held out some grains in his small hand to lure the Mooka from under the tiny space it had crept into._

_He gave it time and he gave himself time – feeding the animal morsels, luring it out more and more, carefully stroking over its feathery neck, scratching its furry back._

_It used the time and he used the time – getting acquainted, getting accustomed, earning each other’s trust._

_When the time was right, he cradled the pup in his arms. He chose the right time to walk back and crouch into the bush next to the fence. Only one could go through at a time, he needed it to trust him enough to follow him. With more grains, he laid a trail and it followed him._

_He slipped backwards through the gap while handing out more treats to tow the Mooka along. Pushing out of the bush he waited until the animal had followed him through and picked it up again and turned –_

_“What are you doing here and what is that?”_

_He recognised the voice and stared up at the simple Dura-steel helmet. It was so different to look at an unimpressed dark T-visor than into the expressive brown eyes of his friend, Din._

_He could still consider him a friend, couldn’t he? Or had it changed since he had taken to wear the helmet? He would do so in two years, too._

_“I’m taking him home.” He hoped that his voice was steady and convincing enough._

_“In the middle of the night?” The helmet in front of him tilted slightly._

_It made him defiant: “Yes sure. Don’t you know? That way it is less scared.”_

_He stepped forward to pass by Din, but the older boy put a hand on his shoulder: “Does your_ ori’vod _know?”_

_He shrugged his shoulder and Din’s hand off: “Of course. She advised me to go that late.”_

_“_ Jehaat _.”_

_It got harder to stare up into the visor and he started fidgeting: “It’s alone and hurt.”_

_Feeling the burning in his eyes he got angry at himself: “It’s lonely and needs protection!”_

_There was a shift in the older boy’s posture, he got stiff from helmet to toe. He tried again: “Without help, it might die. I had to save it.” His voice got more insistent: “Din. Please help me.”_

_“I … okay” Din sighed and lowered his helmet in defeat._

_A bright smile lit up his face: “Thank you, Din._

_From then on, the two boys had diligently worked together. The Mooka was fed, entertained, and hid in different places where either of the boys could take care of it. Until one evening._

_“Why are there so many sentries out tonight?” He kept his voice to a whisper and looked at Din. There was not much he could see, just his helmet, but at least he got a shrug for an answer._

_“We split up. One should make it to_ Nuh’la _.” Din’s instructions were thorough. He grinned up in admiration. Din was already allowed to wear a helmet, he was allowed to join the training. Din was soon a warrior._

_He looked around carefully and waited. The warrior in his dull bluish armour with the three white stripes walked past them unsuspectingly. He darted from their hiding place, straight to where Din told him to wait for a staging post. Then he waited, counted, gave Din the time he had said he would need._

_He made it round the storage hut and hid between some discarded containers and hedging. From here he had a good view and again he waited as he had been instructed. He saw an equally small grey form move quietly between the staples of storage boxes but lost its sight as it ducked between them._

_Soon enough he could hold_ Nuh’la _close again, feed her and go and find a place to play with her. He was looking forward to this time of comfort. He had got used to it, no matter how tired he felt in the morning due to all the lost sleep. During the daytime he didn’t have much time and too many preying eyes could detect their precious little secret._

_He smiled in anticipation as he saw Din quietly slip between the boxes and turn towards his hiding place. And then there was this metallic sound – a vambrace against a box – loud in the quietness of the night._

_“Halt!”_

_There was this metallic sound – safety bolt released – too loud in the stillness of the darkness._

_“_ Ad _? What are you do … what … have you got there?”_

_Mar – Din’s buir!_

_His heart seemed to stop and beat in his throat – at the same time._

_His lungs screamed to be filled and felt full to the brim – at the same time._

_His body was rigid and trembled – at the same time._

_He darted out of his hideout as Mar grabbed Din’s arm and yanked him around._

_“Boy! What is that?”_

_Din clutched the Mooka close to his chest and writhed in the warrior’s grip: “I found it. It needed help.”_

_Just as he ran up to Din, Mar’s other hand shot out and grabbed the fabric of his suit at his neck. For a second, he felt his feet losing contact to the ground as he was lifted. The taunt sensation at his throat made him gag and cough, he kicked out but only hit thin air. He was set down again but the strong grip kept him in place._

_“It’s my fault, it’s mine! I found it and brought it in!”_

_He had learnt that the adults found out everything sooner or later anyway, and he couldn’t Din take the blame for his actions. Getting shuffled around he was forced to look up into the dark visor._

_“I should have known that you are involved in this, too. Whenever one of you is in trouble, the other isn’t far off.”_

_Din frantically shook his head: “’Tis not true!”_

_He knew that he tried to convey to him to be silent. But that wasn’t right, it was wrong! A spark of panic rushed through him as the dull helmet tilted menacingly slowly towards Din again: “_ Ad _?”_

_“He … I brought it in! He’s just trying to take the blame!”_

_“I know that only one of you is saying the truth!” He could hear that Mar got impatient._

_Struggling against the hold was useless, but he tried, nevertheless. He wanted to be closer to Din and_ Nuh’la _, he felt safer in their vicinity. Yet, the more he struggled, the tighter the grip got until a yank tore him back and he lost his balance and fall onto his bottom._

 _Mar wasn’t putting up with his antics anymore, the steady finger commanding him to stay put, as the warrior concentrated on Din: “_ Ad _, you know better than to decide without consulting me first. I don’t care for whose idea it was first, but you are the older of you two. We will go to the_ alor _and you are going to face the consequences.”_

 _A flick of Mar’s finger told him to stand up and he felt the strong fingers curl around his shoulder, steering him and Din towards the_ alor’s _quarters._

 _Dazed he looked over to Din, he was still holding_ Nuh’la _tight to his chest. With his shoulder starting to ache under the grip he stumbled along, also Din had problems keeping up with Mar’s long strides. To his horror, he saw the tall figure of the_ alor _in his blood-red armour already waiting for them. His arms crossed and legs slightly spread he was standing in the doorframe, filling it completely._

 _“Please,_ alor _! I just wanted to keep it safe! I didn’t mean any harm!”_

_But he was ignored. The blood-red helmet didn’t even lower to address him._

_“What’s going on here?” Distorted as it was, the_ alor’s _voice still held some amusement at the sight before him. A grown warrior, two struggling younglings and a pet. The voice was accompanied by an interested tilt of the helmet and he was sure that everything was examined thoroughly. A sliver of hope rose in him, but before he could speak up, he felt the squeeze on his shoulder getting tighter. It wasn’t his turn, yet._

_“Din smuggled this creature in.”_

_But it was hard to keep silent when the facts weren’t right._

_“No, he didn’t!” – “Yes, I did!”_

_“_ Ne’johaa! _Both! We are not going to clear this with everyone shouting over the other. Din you are older, you first and then you Tharam._ ”

_Din related the story as he had planned, taking the blame and while he did the visor his helmet never ceased to gaze at him. It made him tremble all over, his hands clenched into fists and he shook his head. Only dimly he was aware that both adults watched him closely._

_“… and that is why Tharam was out there with me. And he doesn’t have anything to add to my story.”_

_By the time Din had ended, he had to blink his tears away, and his voice failed him. A weak whisper was everything he could form: “It … it was … wasn’t … like that.”_

_“I accept my punishment for not following the orders!” Din’s voice was loud and strong._

_The_ alor _rose a finger silencing him: “There is still Tharam to tell his side of your story.”_

 _He was barely able to finish his side of the story, the true side, before his voice was drained in more desperate sobs. He just had to convince them of the truth, he really had to prevent Din from getting punished for his own foolishness. And as the warrior and the_ alor _nodded at him when he had finished, he was quite convinced that he had succeeded._

_Dumbfounded he accepted the Mooka as Din shoved her into his arms. Stunned he heard Din’s voice but didn’t know anything to reply to it._

_“I’m the older one. I should have known of the consequences and acted according to it. I accept the penalty for not having prevented this from happening.”_

_“Din, no …!”_

_A shiver ran down his back when both men nodded in agreement. Mar’s hand which had never left his shoulder guided him out of the room and just before they stepped over the threshold, he threw a last frantic glance back. The sight didn’t do anything to lift his anxiety. Din was standing with his head lowered in front of the_ alor _, but the quiet voices didn’t reach for him to hear what his punishment was to be._

_Numbed and clutching Nuh’la tightly he was brought to Tulata. She thanked Mar and pulled him into their quarters and pushed him down on his cot. What followed next, the rant of I’ve-told-you, the litany of dos and don’ts, was not to able pull him out of his daze._

_“Tharam! Are you listening at all?!”_

_“He is getting punished. That is wrong.”_

_“Tharam, it is the_ alor’s _decision.”_

_“It is wrong! I have to tell him.” Tulata pushed him back down on his cot again._

_“You won’t change his decision!”_

_“I can try!” Again he tried to stand up, to no avail. His sister was stronger._

_“Not today. Neither will Din’s punishment start today. You go to sleep. Now. With or without this animal, I don’t care. But you won’t disturb the alor tonight. If you want, we can go and see him tomorrow.”_

_He lay awake for a long time and only the warm body of_ Nuh’la _and her soft chirps had him get some rest. But it was fitful. More than once he woke up, clinging to the Mooka, squinting his eyes at the chrono wishing time would pass faster._

-*-*-*-

 _He watched his_ buir _leave with Tharam and the Mooka. Bracing himself for the worst, he faced the_ alor _again._

_“I’m sorry. We … I just wanted to help. It won’t happen again.”_

_The alor nodded: “Yes, we will make certain that you won’t make this mistake twice. Your atonement will start this very night. This is the way.”_

_“This is the way.”_

_Quietly he followed the man in the blood-red armour and didn’t question him when he was led towards the training quarters. There was no way that it should be occupied that late at night he thought. But he was to be proven wrong. He didn’t know them, they were taller, older, in an age group higher than he was. They were all geared up, not only with their armour, but with the complete weaponry._

“Verd! _This one and his_ buir _will join you on the march. Help him to gear up.”_

_A utility belt filled with ammunition, a holster with a blaster on each side of his hips, and an EE-3 carbine rifle were given to him. He struggled with which belt he was supposed to attach first when Mar came and helped him. Certain and precise movements slung the belts round his hips and the rifle over his shoulder._

_Then the trainees lined up and all he could do was join in with them as they marched out of the training quarters and the compound into the darkness. He struggled to keep the rifle from banging hurtfully into the back of his knees as if it were not already enough that his shorter steps didn’t match the longer strides of the older younglings._

_Mar had to intercept. He stopped him and adjusted the strap._

_“That comes here. Let me shorten this … stop fidgeting … now that’s better.”_

_It was better, the weight was distributed more evenly, now he only had to catch up with the group. Only, as if they weren’t already way ahead. In a short time, sweat was streaming down his face into his neck scarf, making the fabric itchy, the fabric of the suit felt wet on his back, too._

_He was only able to narrow the distance, as the group halted for a new formation and instructions. And it went on like that for hours. He stumbled along and the encouraging words of Mar helped only so much. Finally, they seemed to take a longer break and he was able to he reached them. His pants came in heaves and his stomach felt tight. He didn’t how long they had been marching, but the surroundings were dipped into a fading grey as the sun made to rise. Then they were on the move again, he didn’t even have time to sit down for a moment before the next command came. Divided into smaller groups they had been given out differently coloured sashes._

_He looked from the one bunched up in his small fist to his_ buir _._

_“It’s you and your squad now. I’ll be there but I won’t interfere.”_

_One of his squad turned shortly and sharply moved his head, wanted him to follow him. With aching legs, he scudded after him. The taller boy reached out and pulled him along, and then suddenly sideways. He could make out the larger group he was assigned to._

_As soon as they had caught up, commands were given out in short barks. He didn’t know what they meant, he didn’t understand what they actually wanted him to do. His head swivelled from one distorted voice to the next, confusing him utterly when the commands seemed to contradict themselves._

_The large boy who had tagged him along helped out: “You, up there and behind that stack of boxes. Shoot anyone not wearing our colour.”_

_“But … I can’t shoot them!”_

_“You can. Training ammunition. Will only sting, not hurt seriously. Now go!” the voice was loud and commanding and set him automatically into motion._

_He scrambled up the pile of boxes, to the very top, ignoring the pain when the butt of the rifle repeatedly bumped into his knee-cap. Flattening out on the surface, he brought up the rifle as he had been taught. Butt into the shoulder, head aligned. He needed several adjustments to manage to see through the small slit of the visor. Then he frantically looked for his squad, but they had scattered. There was no one in sight and everything seemed to be still. No sounds reached him. Slowly he started to feel safe in his hideout and searched for his_ buir _. He had said that he would be around, but he couldn’t see him either._

_His heart pounded heavily in his ears at the first loud bangs and shouts. He flinched._

Shouts – screams – gunfire

 _He didn’t want to think of it – how they had run. He tried to calm his breathing, desperately trying to remember what the_ muun’baj’ur _had taught him. In through the nose, out through the mouth. But it didn’t help, he flinched and turned his head to where a shout sounded much closer to him._

Curses – cries – volleys

_He didn’t want to think of it – how people had dropped next to him. He aligned the sights at someone running around the corner. His hands were trembling as he tried to make out the colour of the sash. Then he recognized the tall boy – one of his squad – he was being followed. He swung his rifle._

Roars – yells – barrage

_He didn’t want to think of it – how the lid had shuddered at the impact. He was shaking and sweat ran over his brows, stinging liquid in his eyes. They were closing in on the tall boy. He had to do something._

_Shrieks – howls – blaster shots_

_He squeezed his eyes shut – he couldn’t do it. The rifle tilted as his grip on it loosened._ Never lose your weapon _– the_ muun’baj’ur’s _voice was loud in his head. He tightened his muscles, tightened his grip on the metal – his fingers squeezed._

_Pain spread on his shoulder and his cheek as the rifle rocked against his shoulder. He dropped it as if it were hot iron and bobbed up. He turned to the dark shade looming over him and something heavy dropped on him, made a grab for him. He went down with the weight, rolled out of its way until the edge of the storage box dug into his spine._

_Then all that was left was thin air._

_The screech sounded loud in his ears when he fell. Flailing his arms, he tried to reach for anything solid. But there was only the passing sensation of a hand reaching for his. It neither stopped nor slowed the plummeting sensation._

_The screeching sound in his ears stopped when the impact drove all air from his lungs. There were more shouts and voices, but he couldn’t locate where they were coming from or what they were saying. His vision was blurry with the tears that filled his eyes and spilled over, streaming over his temples and into his hair. The pain seemed to have taken residence in his whole body, though the sting in his back was overridden by a pounding sensation in his leg and arm, by a warmth that covered his calf._

_A dull blue-grey helmet invaded his limited vision. He knew the three white stripes on the cuirass, he knew the voice that barked loudly: “Inform the_ baar’ur _! We are coming back! Open fracture!”_

_He pressed his helmet against the rough fabric between pauldron and neck. He felt safer this time, less scared. There were no shots or shouts anymore, the only thing that cut through the silence that had fallen was the jetpack that ignited._

-*-*-*-

“But you know that if it hadn’t been the Mooka, these two would have found other ways to get each other into troubles.”

She had to agree, Fina was right in her observation. Both, Tharam and Din, had never been up for good: “At least it was harmless as long as has they hadn’t sworn the Creed and were sent out on their own.”

Fina hummed quietly: “How often had they come back and you had to patch them up?”

She thought for a moment: “It is easier to answer how often they had come back and I _didn’t_ have to patch them up. I really got used to it. But it didn’t make it any easier. But this first time …”

Fina chuckled weakly: “I remember how upset Tharam was. No one could pull him out of the stupor Din’s accident had thrown him into. He didn’t take part in any activities of your age group, no matter how much he had actually liked them before that. Is it true that you had to force him to even eat?”

Slowly she nodded. Watching Tharam’s empty stare had become nerve-wracking after some time. And she couldn’t count t the times she had to pull him out of the med area where he kept Din company so that both of them could get some rest.

Watching Tharam as he sat reclined to the tree with both younglings and the Boetay pressed close to his body obviously at rest made up for the images that had clouded her mood.

In the spreading silence, she wasn’t prepared when Fina continued: “The first time … when he came back from his first hunt … it was a most awful sight.”

She knew exactly what Fina meant. This sight still haunted her and had her innards constrict. If she didn’t say it too loudly it wouldn’t be that true, she tried to lie to herself: “I still don’t know how they managed to come back … I almost lost him.”

“If it hadn’t been for you … you saved him. Without you, we would have lost him, both actually.”

“Din wasn’t that badly hurt, the loss of blood was the main problem. But Tharam … if Din hadn’t had him treated before and if he hadn’t got this machine …I don’t want to dwell on it. Let’s just enjoy the sight of our loved ones.” With a pointed tilt of her helmet, she gestured at Tharam and Bril.

“And I thought your loved one is off-planet.” Fina was not fast enough to escape the swat that landed on her unprotected upper arm, but she ran away with a laugh on her lips.

-*-*-*-

She needed to be away, needed time to be alone and to think and there was a perfect place. With each mile which she put between her and the covert, she felt herself relax. When she reached the beach, she stopped the speeder biker and chose a patch of lyme grass to sit down on. Facing the sea, she watched the waves wash ashore and savoured the quietness that came with the solitude she had there.

The feeling of being overwhelmed had crept upon her before she realised what had her itchy and irritated – it had been too much, too many, for too long – she simply wasn’t used to it. The only minutes to herself seemed to have been the time she spent in the fresher, and sometimes not even there.

It wasn’t that she complained about the heated sessions she had with Tharam, not that she minded the deep conversations and reminiscences she had with Dargak, not that she lamented the exchanges about medcare with Tulata and all the other things that had come with becoming a part of the life of the Nevarro tribe – but it was too much, she wasn’t used to it after her time of solitude.

And then more things had come crashing in on her, like the waves that crashed onto the beach. The trip to Myrkr, Rook, Paz making her stay and the information she had got at the medic centre in Ariana. She tried to sort these things out.

Things that she had no influence on and these things she best let wash by. Like Dargak flying her ship – they will be back soon. Like Rook the lost member of the Nevarro tribe – it was not her decision and he might be not the only one, there would be more.

Then there were the things that did involve her, and these things dragged her into the current. Like Evan and his teachings on Myrkr – she had neglected his lessons on meditation. Re-arranging her position, straightening her back, she rested her hands on her knees and closed her eyes.

_It is good that you have come. – There is not much we can do._

There was only the sound of the waves. The constant coming and going of the water, the soft clatter of the pebbles as they were dragged along.

_As far as we can tell. It has worked so far._

There was only the sound of the wind. The constant breeze that made the lyme grass rustle.

_Right now, another one is not advisable. But we would like to see you for another appointment._

There was only the sun. The constant warmth that turned into a relentlessly burning sensation.

_Come back within two standard weeks. You can get another one if you are not expecting._

Slightly irritated she stood up and walked up to the waterfront and along the beach. Bending now and then she picked up random stones and threw them into the spray. The small ones she popped over her finger, the larger ones she tried to throw as far as possible. Until she picked one that was much lighter.

_Two standard weeks. What if she was …?_

It the same kind of stone she and Tharam had found the other day. It shone in the sun as she turned it around. It was of a darker, more reddish colour, yet the helmet’s HUD system said it was the same kind of stone. She pocketed it and slowly continued her walk. And she found more, it was only small splinters, but they made a pretty collection. And, above all, it was a perfect distraction.

When she went back to her speeder, she had a pocket full of _shukeyc dire_. With the decision to present them to Dargak, so that he could use them for the wooden boxes she went back to the cave. But there was another decision she had made, she had to talk to Tulata and Tern, although she didn’t know in which order. 

The decision was made for her when she pulled the speeder up near the shuttle. But she stopped her approach when she saw that not only the two younglings were asleep. By the way his chest moved with slow and deep breaths, by the way his helmet reclined with its tip on the cuirass, she knew that Tharam wasn’t awake either. Only Daryc acknowledged her presence with a sleepy eye and a lazy thump of her tail.

She couldn’t find her outside the cave which left only a few places inside which she could go to. Fina and Tulata were sitting in the common area, both tinkering with the materials Dargak had prepared. They were talking quietly and now and then a giggle or laugh could be heard.

“Oh makers! This turned out really ugly!” Fina lifted a green cloth, stuffed to resemble – with some good will – a Fathier.

She couldn’t help but snort at the sight. It made both women turn towards her.

“You think you can do it better?” She could hear the slightly hurt challenge in Fina’s voice.

She shrugged: “It would be unfair. Dargak showed me how to do them. Started off with simple figures like Porgs and Banthas before he let me try Fathiers or Rancors.”

“Rancors for toys?”

“Well yes. They are ugly enough to be already loveable again.”

She walked closer and watched as Tulata sewed some buttons onto the green fabric.

“Eyes?” It was not ideal, but recognizable. Digging into the pouch of her belt she pulled out the stones she had collected: “If I get to drill holes in them, they would make a nicer pair.”

Both women stared at the reddish shining pebbles. She sat down and idly picked with her knife at the stone. It was soft enough, with a matching tool a hole could easily be created. She looked at Tulata and smirked under her helmet. She knew there was a tool in the medic area which would fit perfectly. Although Tulata was sceptical, she was willing to let her try. Together they went to the cavern preserved for medical treatment.

She didn’t want to interfere with Tulata’s arrangement, having given her completely free hand at how she wanted the area organized. So she sat on the cot and waited for the other woman to rummage in the drawers.

“Is … is it true … you have … to wait two standard weeks for …?” Despite her low voice, she had Tulata’s attention after her first few hesitant words. The dark red helmet tilted in a more than exaggerated way.

“Wait. For. What?” Tulata’s voice was punctuated, although she guessed that the other woman knew exactly what she tried to refer to. Her face scrunched up as she pursed her lips in thought. Tulata had to know what she was hinting at, she was a healer and a woman, for Maker’s sake!

Tilting her helmet also, she gestured vaguely at her midriff: “A test. For that.”

“Are you … When was your last period?”

She watched as Tulata went to the basin and started washing her hands.

“Hey no! I don’t need an examination. I had one in Ariana. It’s just …” She needed an encouraging nod from Tulata to continue.

“At the medcentre they were not sure if it still worked and they said that I couldn’t have another until they had me tested.” She sighed and scoffed at herself. She had never thought herself prudish but talking to Tulata about an intimate topic that involved her brother made her feel uncomfortable.

“Was the implant compromised?”

She shrugged: “Not even they could tell. That’s why they keep me waiting – two kriffing weeks!”

Tualat’s chuckle was soft, but she still heard it: “So what are you worried about?”

She spluttered and almost swallowed the wrong way: “Nothing! I’m not … I just wanted to know …”

“Know if the implant worked? … What if it didn’t work?”

“I …” Hearing Tulata voice what had her brain occupied since she had left the medcentre, had her stop mid-sentence. “ … don’t know.”

“Does Tharam know? Have you talked to him? Or was your trip today a way to escape him?”

Crossing her arms, she eyed the woman who was standing in front of her by now: “You are way too observant for my taste, Tulata.”

She knew that her deflection had failed when Tulata pressed on: “I’m sure he’d like to know.

She didn’t know how Tulata did it, she started to feel cornered again. Her incapacity to deal with relatives made her squirm on the cot: “Know what? It’s not like I know anything.”

“Just keeping this not-knowledge to yourself and letting him think that he is the reason for your elusive behaviour is not helpful.”

Even though it dawned on her that Tulata might be right, she didn’t know how to overcome the ingrained need to solve things by herself. For the past years, there hadn’t been the need to fill others in. There hadn’t been any necessity of sharing what went on in or with her. Communicating her thoughts or worries hadn’t been required.

All she had done in the past years was to fulfil her contracts, search for the next job. The state these had left her in had been of no concern to the clients and the ship’s interior had been the only witness to her licking her whatsoever wounds.

It wasn’t easy for her to admit, but Tulata’s nod was helpful: “I don’t know … how to …”

“He is no indifferent moron, he knows something is up. I guess that he had already tried to address you …”

Yes, he had, she had to admit, and in his characteristic way, he had given her space when she chose not to talk to him. She retraced the night before when he had tried to coax her into talking, despite not being able to spot all reasons for her distress.

“It is just his reluctance to intrude. That keeps him from pressing you. But this is how he shows that he cares.” Tulata gave her time to let the words sink in before she continued: “If it is any help, though I fear not, he’s as unpractised in communicating his needs and wishes as you.”

She let go of a low chuckle. This wasn’t what she wanted to hear, no matter how true it was. Her not willing to talk, him not willing to press her into talking – chaos was ensured.

With quiet words of thanks, she slid from the cot and strolled outside, more or less meandering as she chose a path to approach him. She neither wanted to startle nor did she want to seem as if she was observing him. The closer she got, the better she could admire the still life he had managed to create out of himself, the younglings, and the Boetay, as well as all the things he had brought along for his task to watch over the three.

His whole left side was occupied by the younglings. The toddler was nestled into the crook of his bent knee and Liom, clinging to his neck with both arms, was seated on his thigh while his body was supported and tugged against the green-blue armour by an arm slung around him. Both younglings were fast asleep and she could hear the soft snores.

The Boetay, though not moving her head from Tharam’s right thigh was aware of her watching them. Daryc blinked lazily and her tail swished over the ground in a wag.

With his helmet hanging low against cuirass Tharam gave the impression of being asleep, which made her reluctant to get closer. But then she saw his hand which had rested on the animal’s body slip to the ground and pat the place next to him.

Beneath her helmet she started to smile. Seeking his closeness might be a good start to overcome the tight feeling that was still lingering in her chest. It might help to feel his body and its warmth to comfort her uncertainty.

Quietly to not disturb the young ones, she sat next to him. Inching closer and finding a space that wasn’t occupied by the large animal. Moving slowly as she spread her legs around and over Daryc to next to Tharam’s side.

He had moved his arm and as soon as she had settled she could feel the warmth his gloved hand emitted against her side. It was a soft touch, barely there, not pressure or weight, just warmth that told of its presence.

She reached down and placed her hand over his, guiding him to press her closer to his side. His chest heaved with a content exhale. He had been missing something, and now it was there.

She let her helmet tilt and rest against his. That way it was easier to keep her voice low, a mere whisper: “I’m sorry.”

At first, she wasn’t sure that he had heard her, but then his nod came as a hint of a motion. More telling sound his breath made, it was a sound of relief. It made her feel more at ease, knowing that he held no grudge made it easier for her to continue.

“Paz and the ship were just a trigger. In Ariana I’ve been to the medcentre …”

“Saw you leaving when I looked for you.”

He lifted her head to look at him, but he didn’t elaborate his quiet admission, he left it to her to continue.

“Things felt strange lately and I wanted to get the implant checked. They removed it, but they couldn’t replace it as they weren’t exactly sure that it had worked properly. They can only do so when I come back in two standard weeks to … have a test … to see …”

Her lips became a thin line when she pressed them together. Again, for a second time, not knowing that – no, if – she was expecting, put her under stress.

“… to test whether you are pregnant or not?”

She was grateful that he had chosen to speak up, although she could detect a trait of restrain. She realized that he carefully made sure to keep his voice quiet, devoid of any emotion and the quietness made her wonder how he felt about the information. The more surprised she was when his helmet lifted and she felt his gaze on her.

“How do you feel about it?”

“I? How I feel … I don’t know … Stupid? That a second time these implants fail on me?!” She really didn’t know how to feel. It was not that she was completely opposed to the idea of having children. Maybe she had even hoped that one day she could have children of her own. But right now she more than felt overwhelmed with everything still somewhat on the move.

His fingers curled into her side and when he whispered again it sounded an octave deeper: “We haven’t talked about having children …But …”

“No, we haven’t. Nor about …” She looked up to be met by the blue visor which slowly tilted. Swallowing past the knot in her throat became difficult all of a sudden. Her eyes strayed from the visor to the two younglings.

Her mind summersaulted as it did a comparison between green and green-blue. Between Denx who had voiced his wish to settle and found a family, but who she had never seen interact with younglings and Tern who she had never talked to about it, but who she saw playing with the smaller younglings and teaching the older ones.

“… _Riduurok_?”

The huskiness of the dark baritone made her helmet snap up again and while he talked she seemed unable to breathe.

“I want to court you … if you will have me ... Not because of the implant incident … already before that … I had thought I’d just do it ... start with the courtship and see how it went ...”

Her inhale came in a stutter. There hadn’t really been a change in his behaviour, but there had been subtle innuendos and she finally saw them – the rose on Jormark which had brought with him to Garos – _present_ , his almost sacrifice on Myrkr – _protect_ , and his daily routine of bringing the meals to their room – _provide_.

“… But as it is now, I want you to know that I want you ... I don’t want to be without you … ever ...”

She didn’t know where the sound came from within her, it was something high-pitched, something suffocated. Not unlike the death squeal of a small animal and for a second the fingers curled into her side in a bruising clawing grip.

“ … May I … May I court you?”

She gulped in, air seemed to have become a rare resource in the last minutes, and kept staring at the blue visor in front of her. Not only she had become tense. As far as it was possible for him, he had turned towards her. Jostling and waking both younglings and the Boetay. And every single one looked expectantly up at the two helmets which hovered within inches from another.

“Please, say something … anything.” There was a rasp in his low voice as if he were about to break and the green-blue helmet’s tip sank slowly towards the cuirass.

Without thinking her hands shot up and pressed against the dented part. She kept him steady while she lowered her own helmet to meet his for the _mirshmure’cya_ : “ _Elek_.”

The colourful helmet pressed more forcefully against hers. In his low whisper, he rolled the ‘Rs’ and turned them into a purr that vibrated into her: “ _Gar warye_?”

Her head was swimming and she still hadn’t enough breath left and was barely able to whisper. But she was certain in her decision: “ _Elek, wayre_.”

She felt the pressure increase just a second before she was pulled flush against his side and free half, not occupied by a youngling, of his chest: “ _Copaani gar_.”

A shiver ran through her as he growled the last syllable past the vocoder. But before she could even inhale to answer he continued: “Tomorrow I’m going to that medcentre in Ariana. That way you won’t ever have to worry … not until you’re ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alor: leader  
> al’verde: commander  
> Ner meshurok: my precious (one) lit. my gemstone  
> ad’ika: little one  
> verd: warrior, soldier  
> riduur: spouse, wife, husband  
> baar’ur: medic, healer  
> ori’vod: big sister, older sibling  
> Jehaat: lie, untruth  
> Nuh’la: funny, amusing  
> ad: child, son, daughter  
> buir: parent; father, mother  
> Ne’johaa! Shut up!  
> muun’baj’ur: drillmaster, teacher (muun’bajir: trounce, educate hard)  
> shukeyc dire: Tears of the gods (old term for amber, the rest it my writer’s liberty)  
> riduurok: love bond, specifically between spouses - marriage agreement  
> mirshmure’cya: Keldabe kiss   
> Elek: yes  
> Gar warye: Are you sure?  
> Elek, warye: yes, sure


	47. Green can save a life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: fighting, hurt, wound, wound treatment, blood, gore and everything that goes along that lines.  
> and a cliffhanger (oopsey)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for my standards it is a rather short chapter but it leads up to greater things ... enjoy and let me know with a comment what you think - would love to hear more of you, readers! Thank you, dear Lurch's Momma, I'm looking forward to your comment again :-) You are the best!!
> 
> song list (will be added later)

That night they had spent with kissing and touching although it had been difficult for him to hold back. That night she had curled into him again as he wrapped himself around her form, still pressing kisses to her shoulders and neck until both fell asleep.

He kissed her awake and after he had got dressed, he brought her caff and something for first-meal. Then, while waiting for Tulata, he prepared the food for the younglings and the Rulls. He wasn’t sure what to expect and wanted first-hand information from his sister. Secretly he hoped that he could get the implant and she could put it in place, but she explained how she didn’t have the means for this kind of surgery.

With a short list of what they could need from the market, he made his way to Ariana alone. As he didn’t need the port, he made his entrance from the south and pulled up into the street where he had met Rook. The stall was there and the man too, much to his astonishment.

He addressed the old man with a nod: “Thought you said it would take you longer.”

Rook quickly looked up from his hunched-over position and chose to not answer him, but he gave him the chance to see what the old man was working on. Curiously he stepped closer and watched quietly as a delicate golden flower came to life under Rook’s talented hands.

“Commissioned work for one of the higher-ranking citizens, for their anniversary. ”

He hummed in appreciation: “It looks beautiful, so natural.”

Rook finished the pendant before he turned his attention to him: “What brings you back after such a short time?”

“Med-cen ...” He wanted to bite off his tongue. How had Rook managed to make him trust him that quickly?

“Can you keep an eye on the speeder bike?” He hoped that with his request he would distract Rook enough to keep him from asking about his destination, but he was wrong. He was eyed intensely, and his body was given a full check: “You a’right?”

Stubbornly he now remained silent despite the insistent stare he was subjected to: “Can you?”

Even though he didn’t get an answer to his question he decided to take it for granted: “Well, thanks.”

He pulled the cloak tighter around his shoulders and turned swiftly before he got cornered by Rook. With brisk steps, he quickly vanished behind the first corner and didn’t slow down until he reached the alley where the med-centre was located.

In front of the brightly lit entrance, he came to a halt. He had started off early and the alley was still empty. Inside it would be busier he assumed. Curling and stretching his fingers, he swallowed down a rising feeling of nervousness and headed inside. He had to orientate himself first. A waiting area was to his right, to his left a door led to what he guessed the treatment area and right in front of him was a reception.

At the desk, a woman looked up from her work and large dark eyes took him in. Under the sterile white light of med-centre’s lights, her skin shone with a hint of blue. A smile made wrinkles appear at the corner of her eyes and he found himself staring into their inkiness.

“How can I help you?” Then, as he didn’t answer: “What are you here for?” The woman behind the desk tilted her head at his cloaked appearance before she flipped open her data pad and handed it to him. “We need you to fill out this.”

He stared at the display asking for his name, location, profession and other vital information which he was either not willing to give or which he couldn’t provide, due to his lack of knowledge. Looking up from the data pad he tilted wordlessly his head at her.

“You can’t read it? We can switch the language.” Leaning over the desk she pointed with her pen at the pad and a list with languages appeared. With the slow movement of the pen the list started to scroll. With each word she tapped at a mechanical voice read it out loud and when she had come to the end, she looked expectantly at him.

He would be able to express his wishes in at least two languages, but that meant that she would make him fill out the form. Slowly, yet pronouncedly he moved his head from one side to the other.

“Oh boy! This is going to be fun. A patient who doesn’t speak Basic and no other language listed. How am I to deal with you?” She woman sighed heavily, then she shrugged and waved with her hands: “How about hand signs?”

He grinned under his helmet, he could do that. Din had taken him with him to Tatooine and he had taught him to sign to the Tuskens. Slowly he started to gesticulate and received an unimpressed stare in return. So he tried again, repeating the same movements over and over again until he lost count of how often he tried to communicate the problem to her. Finally he got it, the signs were too vague and too specific, he had to come up with something plainer, he had to be more concrete without turning crude.

He was running out of options and time. The second swooshing sound of the door opening to admit another patient told him as much. When grunted shortly to pronounce his displeasure, the woman let her eyes roam over his body again, obviously thinking that it was a sound of pain. Digging into one of the pouches of his utility belt he pulled out what he thought enough credits and slammed them onto the desk. Seeking the woman’s eye contact again he growled and slapped his hand on his codpiece.

“OH!” The woman’s eyes widened, and they moved between his hand and his hood.

“Erm … Okay. We will work something out … Just let me get you to a free room.

He was ushered past the first door and found himself in a long corridor. To the left and right doors led to rooms hidden from curious eyes. As the woman led him past the doors, he wondered how she knew which one was not occupied.

She was much more expressive with her hands as she guided him into the last room on the right side of the hallway, telling him and gesticulating at the same time that he should wait in there for the medic.

That was the easy part, he thought. What he hadn’t anticipated was the time he would spend waiting alone in the room. And what he definitely was not prepared for was the med that entered the room when he was about to give up and walk out.

She was small and barely came up to the lower part of his cuirass. She was young, very likely younger than him and she was beautiful. He felt his face heat up in embarrassment and hoped that she was just a nurse checking on him, he wished for a real medic, a man to follow behind her. But the door closed and no one else came in. Shortly after entering she addressed him without looking up from the data-pad, her fingers busy with making the pages scroll: “Kriff! We seem to have a communication problem here. _Indistinct pointing out of the loin area._ Lora, couldn’t you be more concrete?! How am I supposed to work out why the patient came to us?”

“It’s not her fault.”

Sharp blue eyes flickered up and wandered over his hood as she tried to peer deeper than the fabric covering him. Moving deliberately, he pulled his hood back and watched as her eyes scanned the blue horizontal line of his visor in a try to pierce the obscuring material that threw back a distorted picture of her own.

“Another Mandalorian!”

The way she stared at him made him smirk: “Yeah, there must be a nest somewhere.”

“I know this is of no concern to me, but are you somehow related to the one who had been here the other day?”

“Take your guess.”

“Sorry, I didn’t want to pry. It’s just because it … with you being … Well, this explains the lack of information. I take it you still won’t give me any more details on your person.”

He moved his head in negation: “No. Or is there any need when I already paid for a treatment?”

“You already paid for it? So, you know what you need treatment for?”

He noticed how quickly he was scanned again, as the medic tried to find out the reason for his presence.

“I need an implant.”

The bright bellow of laughter caught him off surprise: “Loin area! That’s what it meant! You do not want to know what my assistant thought you came here for!”

An indistinct feeling crept up as the medic shook her head in more but quieter mirth: “You know how to not put a patient at ease, you know.”

“I’m sorry, but this is too much of a complete misunderstanding and it would have become really awkward … for you.”

He tilted his head questioningly at her: “Care to indulge me? And if it’s just to make me feel slightly better?”

“Oh, sorry. Actually, it is nothing you would have had to worry about. We would definitely have made sure that it really is what you wanted, even without the ability to communicate directly. But your motion … you know, just pointing at your pelvis could be interpreted in some ways … just as Lora noted down. I’ll read it to you: Possible reasons for treatment: sexually transmitted diseases, appointment for a vasectomy or implant. At least now we know this is what you actually want.”

“A vasec … No! Definitely not! I still got plans!”

“An implant then. I’m sure you have thought this step through, yet I can only proceed after having you thoroughly informed …”

Soon he got overwhelmed with all the specific words and terminology, no matter how much she broke it down for him. And the informative video on the data-pad was something he’d rather have not seen beforehand.

“Are you ready?” He managed a quick nod. “Then I need access to the area which you have pointed out so delicately to my assistant.”

He started to nestle at the locking mechanism of his cuirass: “That can take a bit.” He knew that his mumble must have sounded nervous when she answered soothingly to take his time.

Stripping off the upper pieces of protective gear was easy and it kept his mind busy. But then he came to the lower pieces. After a deep inhale he started to unbuckle his utility belt and continued with the rest to be able to remove his flight suit as far as required. By the time he had reached his codpiece, the medic had a tray prepared and waited at his side for him to peel his suit over his shoulders.

Her low gasp carried in the silent room: “No stranger to pain, I see.”

Looking up he saw her eyes roam over his scar adorned skin, it made him shuffle nervously: “Dura-steel is not that protective.”

“I can see that. You still will get a numbing shot to the iliac crest area. No need to endure more than necessary. Now, please, lie down.”

With the suit hanging loosely to his waist he lay down and tried to relax. The coolness of her fingers felt like ice on his hip as she pulled the fabric lower, down to his groin. It was a pure reflex that he shot back up, his hand snapping shut around her wrist.

“I won’t go any lower, but that is where it goes.” He gloved finger poked into his flesh “I did explain it, didn’t I?”

The heat of embarrassment crept up his neck and he mumbled an excuse and release her hand. With a nod and smile she waited until he had settled back down again. To watch her he tilted his helmet, but the angle was unfavourable and soon had his muscles cramp and he definitely didn’t want to watch anymore when she drew up the syringe with the liquid meant to numb the area where the hollow bore needle was to prod him.

The disinfectant pad felt cold on his skin and it was soon replaced with the equally cold fingers of the medic. He did feel the thin piece of metal enter his body and it was more out of dislike for spiky things than actual pain that he flexed his abdominal muscles.

“No need to show off, Mandalorian. We all know you are big, tough warriors forged in battles.”

He scoffed at her sarcasm, which earned him a light giggle.

“When will it … be safe?” A shortly raised eyebrow and a slight tug at the corner of her mouth made him curse inwardly, he must have sounded too eager.

“Lie low for a week, or better do not lie down at all.” Again, there was this slight giggle.

And it slowly got at him: “Do your patients ever tend to come back after being laughed at during their first treatment?”

With grim satisfaction he noted that she had at least the decency to blush and he accepted her apology.

“I’m sorry, trying to distract you didn’t work at all, I’m bad at jokes.” She paused to prod at the numbed area: “You shouldn’t feel that anymore.”

“I don’t. And … who says that I don’t prefer standing.” His grin was smug at the blush deepening, knowing that he had been able to retaliate.

“Okay, I deserved that, but I better concentrate now. The implant will go in between the muscles. You might feel a twinge in the first days until you get used to it. You won’t be able to see it, but you will be able to feel it. Leave it alone the first couple of days … no playing around with it.”

He still felt smug and just couldn’t resist: “As long as I can play with something else.”

She had heard his murmured lewd comment and smirked: “Play with the reason for the implant. Later you will probably feel for it … to check it is still in place. Especially with your … erm … lifestyle.”

“They have told you that they do check on it? … Wait! Is that necessary?” 

“Uh hmm. Yes. And no. If you ever come back after my harsh and unprofessional treatment you could verify.”

It was his turn to hum: “What … what if it … shifts?”

He saw her shrug quickly: “Doesn’t really matter, we scan for them. Normally they don’t stray too far. They only thing you should avoid is …” Her finger was pointing at the rugged, roundish scar below his collarbone. “… getting it shot or stabbed at.”

She waved at him to sit up. And when he looked down, he only saw a small patch.

“Keep it there for the next few hours. Dry cleaning for a day or two, depending on your healing abilities. If anything feels off, see me … or any other medic on whatever planet or moon you are.”

When he left the med-centre and walked back to Rook and his bike, he had to remind himself several times to not rub his fingers over namely spot where the patch was hidden beneath the fabric of his suit.

-*-*-*-

This time he heard the soft clinking sound before the younger warrior came around the corner. He had watched him closely as he had gone to the med-centre and did so again as he returned. There was no change in the young man’s gait. It might be not of his concern, but he was curious why a healthy young warrior would seek an appointment at the med-centre.

And it sure took him a rather long time to understand the nature of the warrior’s visit. Actually, until he watched the movement under the cloak. After watching the brave reaching beneath the cloak and pulling back his hand again for the third time, he was certain, and quickly hid the grin that tugged at his lips. Keeping his head low, he waited until the taller man stood next to his stall.

He gathered himself and reined in his nerves: “Your _alor_ …”

“Our _al’verde_ hasn’t returned yet. But I will tell him that you asked for him.”

“Thanks.” He exhaled somewhat relieved.

Since they had parted, he had thought about them. He had only seen three warriors, but the guessed – no he hoped – that there were more, although he couldn’t guess how large their group was. He had wondered if the three had talked about him to the others and what their opinion was.

He had pondered his options. He could continue his life, it was not that bad. He got to see places, he was productive and earned his living, and the people back on Phindar had given him a place among them. But he had always stuck out, he would always stick out. The differences were just too obvious.

Would it be different if they allowed him to join the tribe, the covert or whatever they had, the Mando’ade?

Wouldn’t he stick out among them? – Yes, he would, just as he did on Phindar, a human among humanoid reptilians. He was _dar’manda_!

Wouldn’t them wearing their _beskar’gam_ and their helmets and him not make them feel uncomfortable around him, see him differently? Yes, it definitely would, he was _dar’manda_!

Wouldn’t he also feel uncomfortable at the constant reminder? Could he stand being with them without being a part of them?

He felt torn and ripped apart - his brain and his heart had been in a constantly raging war, ever since he had caught a glimpse of the green-blue armour beneath the dark billowing cloak. He watched as the Mando’ad eyed the pieces of jewellery he had on display. It gave him time to reflect on the emotions the appearance of the warriors had evoked.

Disbelieve: one of them – they were not gone – it was impossible, after all these years, after so many planets he had been on, where had they been?

Shock: a Mando’ad – he was no longer one of them – should he address him, reveal himself?

Worry: the huge _al’verde_ – he radiated reluctance – had he been too daring by exposing himself, too imposing?

Fear: the dull blue helmet – it left everything to his imagination – what was the _al’verde_ thinking?

Shame: the memories – he underwent the day when he had lost everything again – he went through the destruction and desolation again.

Hope: the prospect of becoming part of the Mando’ade again – becoming whole again.

Desperation: a _dar’manda_ could never be whole again, as a _dar’manda_ he had lost his right to become part of the Manda.

Resignation: he was what he had become – Rook, the jewellery-maker, his only solace: the creation of something new that was beautiful to behold, no matter how desolate and ugly the creator was.

“When the _al’verde_ returns he will want to meet you again.”

The quietly spoken words pulled him back, brought him back to the here and now: “Very much appreciated.”

He couldn’t say more and forced himself to keep the spark of hope from flaring up. The hood came up and shifted at his shaking exhale. He imagined the helmet beneath to tilt to the side in observation.

“I take it, you are not here to inform me ...”

The quick shake of the fabric confirmed his suspicion. He had experienced it himself, the smaller the group the stricter they followed their chain of command.

“But I’d like to commission something.”

He watched the brave who wore his late friend’s armour. After some digging beneath the folds of the cloak a dark glove appeared and in its palm lay two gems. One was oval, of a size that conveniently fitted between a loosely held thumb and index finger, the other one had the form of a tear and was slightly smaller. Both stones were streaked under a greenish surface. As he pivoted the stones they caught the light and began to shine. The larger one in a yellowish green, the smaller one in a darker green turning to blue.

“Your armour’s colours,” he observed. “How do you want them to be done?” In his mind several options started to form. Most prominent a pendant with both stones arranged beneath one another came alive before his inner eyes.

“I was thinking about a wristlet. Something that would fit under a vambrace.”

He took the data-pad and while listening to the warrior’s description he started drawing. When the taller man got quiet, he looked up and showed him what he had so far: “Something like that?”

“This … this is … beautiful. Yes, exactly like that!”

He smiled at the awed whisper. Then he picked up the stones again and placed them on his wrist, using the pen to outline the form he had in mind in which he wanted to place the gems: “It will be sturdy enough and yet delicate so that the beauty of the stones won’t be subdued.”

“You can make it look like that?”

He nodded with a coy grin: “It will take time to work out the design. But I have a feeling that she will like it.”

“I hope she will accept it.”

He caught the glint of the blue visor beneath the hood. He shortly wondered why the warrior was so astonished, even with only one eye he had been able to see how they had gravitated towards each other.

“How many credits do you want to make it?”

-*-*-*-

“We take everything you both have!”

He spun around at the raucous laughter and quickly took in the five young men that had fanned out behind them. He swore under his breath for having been so focused on the stones and oblivious to his surroundings. His mentor, Din, would have more than just disapproved.

The men were barely up in their twenties but held themselves like weathered men. They had their guns out, two of them did, one held a large knife. The speaker was holding a large club in his hands, lightly bouncing it in his hand, slapping the palm of his free hand just below its bulbous head which glinted wickedly with spiked knobs.

“Now give us what we want! This stuff and your credits. They are not worth dying over, old men!”

He quickly calculated the position of the two with their guns. With a step to the side he could shield Rook behind him. The old man was without armour, unlike him.

“What makes you think we will give you what we have?”

On a sign the young men inched closer: “Just give us your stuff!”

He watched the guy with the knife and shifted imperceptibly. He only had to stretch slightly to get his hands on the knife.

“And how do you want to make us do what you want? Shoot us? That would draw the attention of all those people just around the corner.”

At least two of the young men quickly glanced towards the crossing of the roads behind them.

“We don’t have to. Let’s move, boys! Their time is up!”

He stretched at grabbed the arm of the fellow with the knife. His hand closed around the wrist and he tugged harshly, throwing his own weight back and taking the lighter man with him. The staggering man stumbled into the friend standing to him who had a gun. He released him instantly, knowing that these two would go down, giving him time to concentrate on the other three.

He hoped that they still wouldn’t shoot which would attract unwanted attention. But either they were stupid or desperate. A bolt erupted in sparks as it hit his pauldron, the impact turned him sideways. But it brought him closer to Rook. He caught a glint of the door, if he could shove the old man into his home, he would be out of reach, save from the guns and their bolts.

He reached out, curled his fingers around Rook’s shoulder and started pushing. At the same time he started to turn. He had to draw the fire, he had to …

The flash of thought – more instinct than actual reasoning – got broken. The air was punched from his lungs. Metal knobs scratched over his backplate and the cloak tore. Without looking he kicked back, a low grunt of pain was his reward. The loudmouth with the club doubled over, holding his crotch. When he turned to the side, he clearly saw the muzzle of the gun. A step took him between the weapon and Rook. The young thug opposite their leader was forced to aim at him instead. Again sparks flared as the Beskar kept the bolt from hurting him. He’s had enough, these youngsters had had their chances.

He didn’t care that out on the main streets inquiring shouts became louder. The thugs had it coming and after having taken two bolts it was time to give them tit for tat. He shoved Rook back and made the older man stumble against the wall. His hand slapped down and curled over the grip of his gun. Taking out one might be enough to make the others run. Taking out two might …

Again the air was punched from his lungs. Hot and searing pain blinded him, the force of the impact drove him forwards, made him lose his grip on his gun. Only Rook’s arms kept him from falling forward. He closed his fist around the solid part protruding in the front, whatever was sticking in him was a good leverage, especially as the wielder of the weapon was still clinging to the hilt. He ignored the agony that erupted in his side, spun and lashed out. The back of his hand made contact. The shriek of surprise turned into a cry of horror. Sprays of blood fell from his demi-gauntlet as he slammed into the wall by his own momentum.

He was pushed even more to the side as Rook shoved himself past and in front of him. The shriek was drowned out by the sound of his blaster. Shouts from the main road became louder and drew nearer. Confused he reached down, his hand found his holster empty. More shots echoed in the small alley and then Rook’s weight was pushed against his chest. More searing pain in his side as he went down.

 _K’atini_!

He didn’t know how much more he could handle. Rook had become a groaning dead weight which he could barely hold up. Stomping sounds of feet quickly retreating. His blaster was pushed into his palm by a shaking hand. Shouts for someone to stop, inquiries about what had happened, calls for a medic. He didn’t know where Rook had been hit, only that it had to be severe. He needed to get to the med-centre. The speeder – it would be the fastest way – he needed to get Rook to the medic.

A loud inquiring voice shouted into his ear-piece, he chose to ignore it. Only one thing was important now – getting to the med-centre.

An inhaled gasp next to his helmet. He didn’t have much time.

A shout of dismay at his side. Whatever they said about a medic and the med-centre he already knew. Rook had got shot because of him. He needed to act. Impatiently he shook off the hand that tried to keep him from heaving Rook to his bike.

“Let … me! He needs … med-centre!”

There had been helping hands who had draped Rook’s body over the bike, who had helped him to straddle the seat and settle with the still form in front of him. There had been rushing feet, who had started to chase after those who had run off, who had started to follow his fast path to the med-centre.

But all that didn’t matter, his mind was only on getting to the med-centre as fast as possible. Neither did the leaden tiredness matter, nor the dark specks that limited his vision. He needed to reach the med-centre for the man that had taken the shot for him.

When he slowed the speeder to not crash into the wall of the building. He was so close to the door – it swished open – why stop then? – he let the speeder run on, slowly but relentlessly he pushed onwards until he stopped in front of the receptionist’s desk.

“WHAT ARE YOU … WAIT YOU CAN’T LEAVE THAT HERE! … STOP! THIS IS A MED-CENTRE; NOT SOME PLACE TO PARK YOUR SPEEDER!”

He didn’t pay any attention as he pulled Rook off the bike. His own cry of pain as he heaved the unconscious man over his shoulder and straightened with a sway was drowned out by the woman’s cries for the security.

He kicked the door to the corridor open, it was empty and he faced only closed doors.

“Where? WhEre’s? SOmeONE! ANYONE! I NEED HELP!”

Not knowing where to go, he staggered for the room he had been treated in just a few hours earlier. The kick to open the door jarred him, he let go of a howl of pain – the louder he was, the sooner someone would come.

He tried to be as gentle as possible when he lay Rook’s limp body onto the cot. Then he slid to the ground next to the cot. His trembling legs didn’t support him anymore, the rush of adrenaline was slowly waning. Gasping he reached a second time for the piece of metal protruding from his side. All the moving and handling Rook had made it shift. He didn’t know if the dull pain that he felt additionally to the throbbing and to the searing stinging was a good sign.

 _K’atini_!

Pressing his hand against the seeping wound didn’t help to ease the pain, but it grounded him. His hand was shaking as he reached for the com-system installed in the helmet. With his fingers trembling he had to set the frequency twice before he found the emergency channel.

Tulata was quick to answer, he heard the worry in her voice: “Tharam?”

 _“Je … Jehavey’ayc_. _Baar … Baar’ur’ya_.“

“ _Ne ba'slan_! We are on our way!”

The door slammed a second time into the wall within a short time and he looked up to see the same medic who had treated him earlier stand in the frame. Her angry looks morphed into surprise, then worry. He watched her head turn and her mouth move before she rushed to him and knelt down next to him.

“T-treat … him … Can … pay.”

“You both need treatment!”

Her mouth moved but the ringing and droning in his ears was too loud. Her hands on his shoulders kept him from falling over, visor-first dashing into the ground: “Hel …helmet stays …on.”

Blankness meant painlessness and he welcomed it, sinking further into her embrace.

-*-*-*-

She applied the last stitch to the gash on the forearm of her patient and looked up, her concentration had got broken by the ruckus that had suddenly erupted in the entrance area and it kept spreading into the hallway. Somewhere an engine was stuttering, Lora was shouting for the security, a door was slammed open and someone was screaming for help. Quickly she went through the last steps of treatment and wrapped up the gash in the man’s forearm.

“I’ll be right back.” Then she rushed out of the room. The door to the room opposite hers stood wide open. The cot was occupied by an older man with dishevelled hair, the fabric of his shirt over his abdomen bloodied, his hand, dyed red, hung loosely over the cot, dripping blood to the floor. She recognized him, it was the old man that sold the beautiful handcrafted jewellery. Subconsciously she reached for the necklace and the pendant, he had made it for her only a few years ago.

Her eyes fell to the floor, to the crumbled-over, groaning, cloaked figure, which added his own lifeblood to the floor, the hilt of a rapier protruded from his back. She had seen this rapier before, she had seen that cloak before, and she had heard that modulated voice before. Her guts knotted in worry – the Mandalorian who had just recently wanted an implant. Never would she have imagined to see him that soon again.

“Lora! … Two emergencies! Get Dr. Laars and I need the big boys here!” Her throat burnt from shouting but she was sure her assistant had heard her, the screaming in the lobby subsided.

She rushed over to the keeled-over man, his mumbling came as a distorted static sound but she knew what he wanted – treatment for the older man. But they both were in need of medical help. The Mandalorian was barely conscious and his body started to tip towards her and she was barely able to hold up his weight. She struggled to keep him from falling onto his pierced side.

“Hel …helmet stays …on.” His words were so slurred, but she got the gist although it made her worry how she could properly treat him without watching over his vitals, without being able to control his breathing.

“LAARS!”

More of the man’s weight pressed against her and threatened to bury her beneath it. The Mandalorian had passed out and slipped from her grip. All she could do, was to make sure he came to lie on his uninsured side.

Hastily she worked the cloak open. The air filled even more with the lingering acidic smell of gunshots. Flinging the cloak back she revealed the colourful armour and beneath it a pool of blood spreading under the curled-up body. Even in his passed-out state he still flinched and twitched under her hands.

“Dr Talon! What? … Kriff!” Laars called for more helpers. Every assistant available was necessary to work on both men simultaneously.

It was a hassle to move the unconscious man onto a cot. With the rapier still buried in his side positioning was not easy, but she didn’t want to remove it without any scans. Only after ensuring that no organs – and that was a wonder in itself – had been damaged she wanted to remove the weapon. Of course, it had to be her luck that in the process her patient had to wake up again.

He came to with a loud groan. She needed both guards to keep him down, to keep him from thrashing about and lashing out. They had to pin him down, one guard throwing his whole weight onto the hurt man’s legs and lower body while the other trapped his arms behind his back and pressed his torso down with his own. Only then she could apply the anaesthesia and had to wait until it had worked into the system of her patient, only then she could continue to work on his wound.

What he was, or what went on with him so that he had worked himself out of his unconscious state was a miracle to her. She had thought, from the colour and the nature of his skin, that he was human or, at least for the greater partly humanoid. She had barely removed the sharp rapier and started cleansing the weeping hole when he started to move weakly under her fingers – again. The guards still made sure that he could only wriggle an inch wide in their hold.

“D-don’t … N-not my … helm …”

It was difficult to understand him between the modulated crackling of his groans and the medication slurring his words. She moved up from his side and bent to look directly into the blue-tainted visor. Her eyes sprinted along the horizontal line, searching and hoping that she made contact: “Sshh. I know. You don’t have to worry. We won’t remove the helmet. No one will. I will see to it.”

With another groan he stopped struggling against the guards and she went back to his side, a soft ripple ran along his muscles before he went completely limp. He was pliant enough and she was able to tend to his wound again. Two more scars would adorn his body even after the punctures had healed properly.

She went to the medicine cabinet although she knew that she would have to answer for the usage of the Kolto. As severely as he was wounded it was not life-threatening and therefore there was not really a legitimate reason for the quickly healing medication. But she had a notion why the anaesthesia didn’t work on him as it should, he would appreciate being able to be self-reliant again.

She filled the syringe and applied several well-dosed shots around both lacerations. The last one made the man on the cot groan again.

“This is impossible!” She felt the muscles under her hand tense.

“Doc!? He starts straining again!” The guard holding down the lower body looked at her, his eyes silently asking her for instructions.

“Ease back. Just hold him enough so that he doesn’t roll off.” Putting away the syringe, she moved to the headpiece again.

“Are you with us, Mandalorian?”

The movements were uncoordinated, and she nodded at the guard to help him move his arm to the front. Lightly she touched the fabric of the forearm and was rewarded with a feeble groan.

“Just don’t move, please. No one is holding you down, but you need to lie still. Do you understand?”

Leather-clad fingers curled around her own forearm and she felt a soft squeeze.

“Good. The longer you stay still, the better the Kolto can work.” And another squeeze told her that she had been understood.

He did lie still and she could work in silence to finish her work of patching him up. The more startled she was when he spoke up with a hoarse rasp: “Ro … ok. The … oth … er …”

“He is cared for. You have kept me busy here, but I will find out for you … if you promise to keep still.” She took his grunt for a yes.

After she had finally pulled the awkwardly bunched up suit back in place she told him to wait until she had found out about the older man. Her co-medic Laars was still working on him. Literally elbow-deep in his guts, he feverishly tried to save the man’s life. She assisted him the best she could, stanching the blood flow, sewing punctures, rinsing the open abdomen and cleansing it. She was thorough, after all the man’s life depended on it.

Checking on the older man’s vitals now and then she shortly envied Laars for having got the patient who was easier to handle. This patient didn’t seem to come out of the induced sleep as hers had done.

She stayed and worked with Laars as long as he could use her help. After all, her patient only needed rest now, there was nothing she could do for the green-blue armoured Mandalorian, all he needed now, was time to heal. With what she had seen, she did no longer question the lore she had heard of the fearsome warriors in her childhood days. Next time one of these armoured warriors found his way into her surgery room she would make sure that the anaesthetics would knock out a Bantha.

Then – for a second time this day – there were loud voices to be heard beyond the door. She sighed and glanced at Laars, he only gave her a quick nod, he had it from there. Quickly she rushed out to see what it was this time.

And again she was confronted with someone she had treated only recently. She could have laughed at the fact that again an implant was involved, but the scenario of a stand-off, the threatening posture the woman held and the immanent danger her dark timbre warned of, kept her from it. She had to de-escalate the situation.

“How can I be of help. I’m sure – whatever it is – it must be a misunderstanding.”

“Where. Is. He.”

She barely recognized the woman’s voice. Gone was the low and almost comforting hum of a modulation. Only a cold snarl was left. She inhaled to answer when the door was shoved open behind her.

-*-*-*-

She was nourishing her second mug of caff, contently listening to the shouts and laughter that came from the younglings’ section of the cave when Tulata stormed into the kitchen area.

“We need to go to Ariana! Now! Tharam … he got ambushed. He …”

Everything went very still, and she stared up at the dark-red helmet. Her body jerked to a stand when the sound of the shattering mug broke the silence. Blindly she stormed after the red armour towards her shuttle. Starting the engine and steering the vessel was ingrained in her, only thus she could do it.

She didn’t really listen when Tulata related to her some sort of plan. There were not many things she needed to know. Actually, only one thing was important – where to find him. From there she would see for herself. Knowing that he was at the med-centre was calming to a point, but as long as she hadn’t seen for herself, she knew she couldn’t really settle down.

She left Tulata to deal with the hassle that ensued to her unplanned landing at the port and stormed into the street. Too much time had already passed. Rushing along she clasped her fist around the collar of her cloak, barely keeping her hood in place. More than once she elicited an outcry of indignation as she shouldered her way through the people following their daily chores.

The doors to the med-centre didn’t open fast enough for her taste and she pushed them bodily back. They squeaked in protest, but she simply marched through. The speeder-biker, her speeder bike blocked her way to the receptionist’s desk, but not this alone. The woman behind the desk immediately jumped up and blocked her way, to her aid came two tall men. Their task obvious and easily guessed by their sheer size.

“Your latest patient. Where is he?”

Her growl made the woman take a step back, but the men stood their ground, they were not intimidated.

“Bring. Me. To. Him.”

“Sorry, but besides patients and personnel, no one is allowed behind these premises.”

“This is not an option. One of us is in there.”

She flung back the side of her cloak and let her hand hover over her blaster.

“This is a med-centre!” The voice of the woman behind the desk was shrill.

“No one is allowed in there! You won’t disturb the medics!”

“I don’t intend to disturb them or any of the other patients. My responsibility is with the Mandalorian. And him I will seek!”

The two guards were shortly distracted when the door to the rooms for treatment opened and the medic, who had treated her, entered.

“How can I be of help. I’m sure – whatever it is – it must be a misunderstanding.”

The young medic was more than nervous. But the sight of her made her recoil inwardly. The white tunic of the medic was drenched with blood in more places than she could count: “Where. Is. He.”

She expected to hear some excuses and obviously the men of the security team also, as they teamed up and built a solid wall right next to the young medic. But that wasn’t where her attention was drawn. Despite the tallness of the men she saw a movement behind them. Something caught the attention of one of the huge men and he turned.

A glimpse of green-blue was enough for her to rush forward. Everybody’s attention was on the man stumbling from the ward, no one was keeping her from pushing through between the guards and catching her Mandalorian’s caving-in form.

She was too much in a rush to comprehend his state. Relief spread in her, pushing worry to the side – he was still breathing, he had found his way to her. He more or less collided with her, slung his arm round her before she felt his weight bear them both down. Her hood was pulled back in the process but she didn’t care – she had found him and he was still breathing.

With her arms wrapped under his, she let his weight them both sink slowly down. A soft clink made her look to the ground to find a bloodied rapier next to his dangling arm.

“ _Ner meshurok_.”

She heard weakness and pain in his hoarse whisper. She could all but blink to clear her vision: “ _Ner Di’kut_.”

Her heart jumped – once – he chuckled, - twice – he went limp in her arms.

“If you let us help. We can bring him back and you can stay with him.”

She looked up at the medic who tried a nervous attempt at a smile. The ward was safe, she would be with him – it was the only thing she could think of and thus she nodded. While the tall men picked the unconscious man up and placed him on a stretcher, she took up the rapier and examined it.

“Is that what hurt him?” The medic’s eyes flickered from her face to the weapon and back.

“Yes. I think I know it. It …” The medic’s eyes went wide.

She turned sharply at a loud voice ordering everyone to stay where they were. A man in a richly ornated robe strolled in as if he owned the place. Left and right he was accompanied by guards in no less colourful robes.

“You! You are arrested for attacking a citizen of Ariana and my son! Thus, it is double the offence!”

“I … what?” Instantly she moved into her defensive stance. “I just arrived. Thus, you are mistaken.” Her shoulders pulled up and she snarled, keeping the guards from stepping closer.

“There is blood all over you! You wear a dark cloak! And you hold my son’s rapier in your hands! That means you are the culprit!” The short and too well-fed man tried to stand taller.

She looked down her cloak and saw the streaks of drying liquid where Tern had fallen against her: “You are jumping to conclusions. Me holding the rapier doesn’t mean a thing. The only true evidence is who the rapier was removed from.”

“Sir! Magistrate! She speaks the truth. I helped to remove the rapier … from the back of the Man …!” She glanced at the medic who, despite having had the courage to speak up, tried to hide behind her.

“That means your son is the culprit! He attacked from behind and only someone with the intention to hurt or even murder does so. That makes your son an assaulter, if not a murderer.”

“How dare you! Are you saying the word of my son and my nephew is not true, is untrustworthy?! They saw the scum of a man trying to rob a stall and endangering themselves they successfully stopped him!” Some guards exchanged looks and then eyed the magistrate.

She growled as the magistrate tried to puff out his chest, but she simply stepped up to him, not even caring to glance at his guards: “How. Dare. You. Accusing a passer-by without evidence. Show me your so-called witnesses and we shall find out who is a culprit. The one who was pierced by the weapon or the one piercing him. If you are not willing to take the chance that we might find your son guilty you have only once option. Stand. Back. Down.”

The magistrate tried to stare her down, but anger made her eyes flare and without blinking she fixed him until his gaze wavered.

“She is right.” She and the magistrate looked sharply at the quiet voice.

A man rose from a seat in the waiting area: “I have been one of the first to witness what has happened but the warrior was not attacking but defending Rook the jeweller. I followed them here to the med-centre and I’m sitting here to find out how Rook is faring.”

The more the man told everyone about the incident the angrier she got. When she turned back to the magistrate she was shaking with rage and her voice was a suppressed snarl: “Who is the culprit now? What are you going to do about it?”

“This is a lie! No one will believe a filthy beggar like him or a roaming bitch like you!” The magistrate rose his voice and was on the verge of shrieking in anger.

“It. Is. Not. And you know it!” The hot coil of anger settled deeply in her stomach and she gripped the rapier firmer as she listened to a row of insults and lies.

“I will persecute you and this bunch of liars! Guard arrest her! And him!” He was pointing wildly at his guards.

“If you dare to come to do so you will regret it.” Pointedly she fixed each man of the guard. “Accuse or any other innocent and you will regret it. Persecute me or anyone else but your son and your nephew and I will personally see to it that you will regret it.” Her voice was low, just above a mere whisper, but it carried in the still room. Each word took her a step closer to the magistrate who shrunk back from her. Everyone had fallen silent and watched her in rapt awe.

“You will pay for this. No one comes after my son or my nephew!”

“And no one accuses or threatens me or the mine!”

“The empire should have killed the likes of you all off!”

She lunged and rammed her fist with the handle first into the magistrate’s temple. The chunky man fell like a stone. With a swiping motion, she gestured at the guards who stood stunned: “You move and I will find a way to make this known to the government of the New Republic. I have a notion that if they start digging, they will find more. Take a guess what that could mean for you.”

Without a further word she turned and, taking the medic by the arm, went through the door to find Tern.

-*-*-*-

“How much is a job I want you to take?”

“Depends.. on what you want and who.”

“Dead. I’ll send you the information.”

“Is that all you got? No more information?”

“If you hurry you can still find them here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alor: leader  
> al’verde: commander  
> beskar’gam: armor  
> dar'manda: state of not being Mandalorian – not an outsider, but one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity and his soul – regarded with absolute dread by most traditional-minded Mando’ade  
> K’atini: Suck it up! It is only pain!  
> Je … Jehavey’ayc. Baar … Baar’ur’ya: Ambushed. Med-centre.  
> Ne ba'slan: Don’t leave  
> Ner meshurok: my precious (one) lit. my gemstone  
> Ner di’kut: my idiot


	48. Green can take a life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings!!!! more than once there will be wounds, blood, wound treatment, deaths, major character  
> .... hmm do I really kill off one of my major characters?!)

She was pacing, it was an anxious time for her. The official at the port had cast her cloaked form a strange look when she had paid for the hangar. Outside was no option, she didn’t like the feeling of being exposed. Too long she had stayed hidden. She only had the small space of the shuttle to pace up and down its length. Five strides till the step up to the cockpit, back and forth.

They should have arranged something, a time to a signal. Anything.

_PEEP_

She turned on her heel and rushed towards the com-link in the cockpit. It was about time that Vayra confirmed that she was alright, that Tharam was alright. That everybody was alright.

“ _Cyare_.” His voice came with a lot of static background noise.

“Paz!” She basically screamed at him.

“I hate to tell you, but we will take a bit longer. Dargak completed more beacons, enough to set up a whole grid in … wait! … what’s wrong? You weren’t expecting _me_ to call you.”

She curled her hand into a fist and cursed herself for her unguarded voice. Not that it would help much anyway. Even if she hadn’t shouted at him, he would have been able to tell that something was off. But she could still try. Setting the beacons was important and Tharam was being cared for, there was no need to worry Paz at all.

“We got everything under control. Just tell me how much longer it will take you.” She put a smile and some eagerness into her voice, hoping that it would distract Paz enough.

She should have known that it was to no avail when his voice sounded like a growl: “What. Is. Wrong. What have you got under control?”

She sighed wearily: “It seems that Tharam got attacked. Vayra is with him.”

“Attacked? By whom?”

She could hear Dargak in the background. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, so she continued: “We will find out about that. As I said, Vayra is with him and Rook. She will tell me as soon as she has news for me. But for that I need to com-link to be free. I’ll keep you updated. You and Dargak, just continue with the beacons as planned. There is nothing you can do here anyway.”

“We are coming back.” He sounded irrevocable in his decision.

It was time to speak up: “No, you won’t! You have a job to complete and you can’t help here. Vayra and I will take care of it.”

He hard breaths came crackling through the vocoder. “ _Cyare_. Please.”

Time drew on and she waited with bated breath for his reply. The indistinct voices she could make out were speaking urgently. Then finally Paz could be heard clearly again: “I don’t like it. Not at all. But we will continue on condition that you keep me updated.”

“I promise. I’ll contact you immediately.” She was more than relieved When she faintly heard his hum. She was missing this noise, especially when he was so close that she felt it vibrating into her body.

“Do you know how serious his condition is?” Paz sounded much calmer, more collected. She understood that he dreaded her answering this question.

“No, I don’t. When he contacted me he … he sounded … agonized. We went straight to Ariana and I’ve been waiting for Vayra to tell me more since she left for the med-centre.”

“He will be fine.”

She knew what Paz tried to tell with these four words. She heard it in his strained voice, he tried to keep his composure. He tried to comfort her and himself. And as simple as his try was, it made her smile.

“We will take care of him … of them.”

When they had said their words of good-bye she waited by the silent com-link, willing it to come to life again, this time with Vayra telling her what she needed to know.

-*-*-*-

He returned from the storage room to get more supplies for the next beacons and immediately picked up on the feeling of distress. Although he only heard scraps of the ongoing conversation, he got the feeling that Paz radiated, he wanted to return to Garos on the spot.

Convincing him that Tulata was right in asking them to continue with their task was easier than he had thought. Reminding Paz of their duties, assuring him that everything will be done at the med-centre and at the cave, as soon as the men were able to be transported, and the prospect of helping other _verde_ was enough to have Paz agree on continuing their trip.

And this they did. After all they still had to complete the contract, they had accepted on Coruscant. It had been pure luck that he had stumbled over the merchant looking for someone to help him. The job sounded easy enough, they just had to secure the man’s trading outpost on Alsakan and keep the pillagers away, maybe making an example of one or two especially stubborn specimen. All in all, it should take them no longer than a couple of days.

With no shuttle they had to use the port in Rucapar, one of the major cities. After a short discussion in which he convinced Paz that he would draw too much attention, he went out alone and paid the fee for the time they would need the hangar. Slipping into a dark alley he donned his helmet and then he used the merchant’s directions to get to the trading companies headquarters on Alsakan.

The man that greeted him in the office was a typical clerk in his eyes. Balding, an unhealthy greyish skin colour from spending too much time inside, pale eyes that erratically dashed around and fingers that couldn’t keep idle. Whenever he tried to focus and get a grasp on the man, he managed to slip away mentally, his mind and his thoughts we constantly shifting.

Nevertheless the clerk gave him the information he needed, their destination. There they would get more information from the workers on site. The question was now only how to get the huge Mandalorian there without causing a commotion in Rucapar.

He was on his was to the port again when his eyes fell on an old, unobtrusive hoversled, but it was covered and would perfectly fit its purpose. Curiously, he went closer.

“Hey! What are you sneaking around my sled? Back off before I get my blaster!”

He turned slowly towards the unfriendly voice and kept his voice amiably: “I’m sorry if I gave the impression of sneaking. Truth is, I am looking for a means of transport, preferably to rent.”

He monitored the man closely. Once he must have been an impressive man. His frame was still broad, although his middle had gained and there was a hunch to his back. Once he must have been a man used to working hard and to fighting. The short blaster rifle was steady in his hands. Once he must have been used to commanding.

“Cloaked and hooded. That’s not a way to gain people’s trust. Why shouldn’t I think that you pretend interest in renting the vehicle as your thieving intentions didn’t play out.”

Suspiciousness and weariness were, what he was met with when he started to prod into the man. Despite that he couldn’t detect anything else, especially no deceit. It gave him enough security to reach up and peel his hood back to reveal the red-visored black _buy’ce_.

He had expected at least the gasp of an inhale, but the dark eyes of the older man remained steadily on him and not a single muscle in his face twitched: “So my ears didn’t deceive me.”

Ah, yes. The helmet’s modulation had given him away. He grinned lopsided within the confines of his helmet: “Seems not. What you gonna do about it?”

The man shrugged, a sly grin creeping onto his lips: “There’s nothing I’d want to do about it. It’s already a shame that so few of you are seen these days.”

“You saw few … sounds like you did see some?” He had perked up and a glint of hope stole into his voice.

“Some is an exaggeration. Only one. But he was a sight in his Beskar. Came for a bounty, rose havoc in the cantina and left with his target.”

A suspicion rose in him: “A bounty hunter then. When?”

“That’s what I said. Several standard months ago. Are you working along that line, too?” The older man chuckled lowly.

He scoffed: “It’s not the only kind of job we can take on.” He didn’t know why, but the assumption raised his hackles.

“Guess not, but you Mandos are predestined with your prowess as fighters.”

For a moment, a not too comfortable silence settled between them.

“So, for rent, you said. For how long and how much would it be worth to you?”

He calculated for a second and then the older man and he started haggling. Both were quite considerate of the other and in the end the prize he paid the older man was reasonable.

When he parked the hoversled next to the Keldab, he almost laughed at the incredulous tilt the blue helmet gave him. “Slow but unobtrusive,” he shrugged and pushed past Paz to start loading the sled.

Together they made quick progress and with their gear and Paz hidden away in the covered compartment he closed and locked the ship. He steered the sled through the city and Paz waited a good time before he squeezed his bulk into the front compartment with him.

“One of us has been here.” The quick shove of the helmet told him that he had the other man’s attention. “That’s the good news. The bad news is some it’s been some months ago and I couldn’t find out more.”

“Who was he?”

He sensed the agitation in Paz. But there was nothing he could tell him. The older man hadn’t given him any description: “He only said that the verd had been a sight in his Beskar.”

It took some minutes before the thoughtful drone of the bass came again: “Beskar? Any paint job?”

He shook his head: “Didn’t mention any.”

Paz hummed: “Could be anyone.”

He felt the sliver of anticipation, even of cautious hope fill the small space of the sled’s cockpit: “Do you think you know them?”

Again, he had to wait for an answer: “Our beroya, he didn’t get caught up in the … in it. He was off-world. I can’t deny that I actually hope that it was him.”

“We will set more beacons. Sooner or later he or any others will stumble across them.” His own hopes were high.

They were silent for the rest of the ride. Each busy with their own train of thoughts. At last, the small town, their destination, came into sight. This time, Paz simply waited in the hoversled while he went inside the storage they had been pointed to. When he came back out, he had their instructions. While Paz occupied the second seat in the cockpit their sled was loaded, just as any other normal transport would have been.

“How many did they say?”

He knew that Paz could hardly believe that a handful of pirates caused that much trouble: “Six to ten. But let’s assume that there are twice that many.”

Paz only grunted and checked his gear again. He had already put on the spare holster and equipped it with his second blaster. Then he readied his short assault rifle.

“No matter how many or few there are, we will stick to the initial plan.”

He was used to getting only a grunt from Paz. He watched as the heavy infantry hopped off the hoversled and slid into the dense bush that grew along the road.

They had set off early enough to give Paz the time to position himself along the road where the transports normally were held up. Slowly he started his mental countdown. “One Co-rel-li-a. Two Co-rel-li-a. Three Co-rel-li-a. Four …” He knew Paz would do the same. Then it was time.

“You better be ready, Vizsla.” He shifted the lever and pushed it slowly up. After an initial bump, the vehicle moved steadily forward. More than once the clerk in the storage had told him that the transports moved slowly with their precious load. He had to do the same to keep the pretence.

Slowly he proceeded. Constantly his eyes roamed the edge of the dense bushes, but there was nothing to see. He didn’t expect anything to happen, yet. He had been told that the last attack had only been recently. But it made him wonder if the pirates stuck to the schedule they seemed to have taken on. If they did, they would have to make this trip for several more times to get lucky. After two more bends there would be the bridge, the first of the likely points were the transports were normally picked off. The first of the meeting points he had fixed with Paz.

Then the vehicle jolted and toppled over and he with it. At the impact, the sled rose on its right side and he was slung against the frame. With a loud clonking sound his helmet collided with the vehicle’s frame. The deafening sound and the impact disorientated him for a second. Dirt and debris hailed down around him, smeared the cracked transparisteel screen, limited his vision. Where the right side of the sturdy vehicle body had been a gaping hole with ragged ends stared mockingly at him.

A surge of panic raced through him. Explosives – no one had mentioned the pirates used explosives! They hadn’t equipped for this!

The sled was down, on its side and wouldn’t move an inch anymore. He inhaled slowly against the sharp pain that travelled his neck upwards. Then he smelt it. The fumes of fuel, the stench of smoke. He tore at the seat’s harness, but his gloved hand slipped, squelched wetly. He moved his helmet down to his side to see what inhibited him.

But he didn’t get far. Ripping pain spread from his neck to his shoulder. Something akin to claws tore at his skin beneath his cowl as he tried to move. Pain and frustration made him growl as he fumbled for the vibroknife in his boot to slash the straps that kept him pressed him into his seat although they also kept him from falling fully against the door. He swore when the knife slipped from his grip, even the insides of his glove felt slippery. He started to cough with the denser getting smoke and with renewed urgency he sawed at the straps.

He heard the dull thuds of the slugs hitting the turned-up bottom part of the sled. Not good, that wasn’t good! Suddenly the transparisteel splintered and something larger than a slug whined past his helmet. He suppressed the panic that started to spread and feverishly grabbed the simple knife on his belt to work on the straps. There weren’t supposed to be that many pirates, they weren’t supposed to be armed that heavily and Paz was supposed to back him up. Where was the heavy infantry?

More slugs that found their way into the cockpit. More whines, this time resulting in sparks from his pauldron and cuirass. They were zeroing in on him.

Then, finally, the louder and darker droning of the heavy blaster canon. The heavy infantry had arrived. Paz was drawing the fire away from him. He concentrated on the straps again. Feeling the first giving way, he braced against the jostle it would give his body when he sagged further towards the sled’s door beneath him.

A loud thudding noise made him look towards the headrest. Where his helmet had been a second before, smoke covered a hole in the pilot’s chair. He gasped, both in realisation and pain. There was not time for that, even though the high-pitched noises from the smaller blasters got less.

He yanked with his knife at the remaining strap. Concentrating on smaller slices he ignored the grating sensation. His body’s weight helped as the last strip of the strap tore and his body was sent down against the door. He yelped at the stabbing sensation and swore. Landing on his activated vibroknife had not been part of the plan. He scrambled away from the blade. But there was no time to inspect the damage.

When the large canon spoke again, he had his own blaster out and used the cockpit for cover. His interference put the pirates in a crossfire. Yells told him that he was hitting his marks, screams told of the large canon finding its prey too. Then the shots subsided, and a silence settled. It was only broken by his own ragged breathing.

“Dargak!?”

He peered over the cockpit again. Paz was striding through the field of carnage towards him. He gave him a short wave before he squadded down to retrieve his vibroknife. His legs trembles and it felt good to sit for a short time. He didn’t want to get up, loathed the idea of scrambling out of the wreck. He looked up as his surroundings got darker, something massive blocked the daylight from entering the cockpit.

“What are you do …” The words died on Paz’s tongue.

“Just getting my knife.” He pressed the words out between his pants. “Care to give me a hand?”

He gripped the hand Paz reached him and let the man pull him to a stand. There was not much he could do to help but keep standing on wobbling legs once he came to a stand.

He gripped the cockpit as Paz tore out the cracked windscreen and again, he relied on the other man’s strength to pull him out of the wreck. Weakly he kicked his legs to help Paz getting him out when he saw the movement.

“Behind you!”

Paz turned and was off in a blink. He grunted as he had to support all of his weight on his own again. Swinging his legs out and over he slid to the ground. The wreck of a vehicle was a good cover, but only helped so much to regain a standing position.

With his weight against the vehicle, he struggled to the front of the sled and watched as Paz came back with a weakly struggling pirate in his tow.

“This one says that their boss normally picks up right after the raid.”

“Then let’s introduce ourselves to this boss.” He didn’t feel like another skirmish, but it couldn’t be helped. This had to be done to complete their job.”

“Do they have more of those explosives left? They might come in handy.”

Paz shook the pirate until his teeth rattled and he willingly, mostly to prevent more damage, disclosed where their stash was. Paz’s thank you came in form of a merciful blaster shot. Together they salvaged the weapons and while he arranged everything, Paz found places to hide away again.

What happened next had both men swear. The small transporter that arrived at the scene spilled a dozen white-clad Troopers, followed by a man in a greyish uniform.

“Warm or cold?” Paz looked at him silently.

“With this …, ” he pointed along his right side: “Cold.” A sharp nod was all he got from Paz. Then the heavy infantry was up, and his canon spat death. He tried his best to keep up, but although he was ambidextrous, his left side was still the weaker one. When the last Trooper fell, he sank to his knees. The adrenaline was ebbing away and there was nothing that kept him on his feet anymore.

“Here. … The com-link … to the contact. … Tell … tell him … we are done.”

Paz slowly walked over to him, a limp in his gait, and sat down with a grunt. Neither side was happy about the person responsible for the raids being delivered cold. The client went so far to say that they could do with the corpses what they wanted. So they just left them where they were. At least with the arrival of the troopers they had a vehicle to get back to the ship again.

He didn’t put a fight when Paz pulled him up and dragged him into the transporter where he lowered him gently onto the floor. The cold spreading from the metal floor kept him awake only for a few moments, the movement of the vehicle lulled him, and he closed his eyes.

-*-*-*-

He avoided potholes the best he could. Again and again he turned his head and gazed at the Zabrak who lay still on the floor of the transporter. In the dim light of the back area he could only barely make out that the cowl shone wetly. The more prominent was the dark stain that slowly spread beneath Dargak’s right side. He swore and accelerated the transporter.

When he reached the ship, he manoeuvred the vehicle alongside the Keldab. He didn’t need any witnesses. But he hadn’t counted in the port’s official.

“Hey what are you doing there? This ship is off limits.”

On the one hand he was pleased to note the sense of duty this man had, but on the other hand he didn’t have time for this kind of nonsense.

“My partner and I came in that ship and we are going to leave in it again. Besides that, I think he has paid you in advance several days’ worth. Let us leave and you can keep the surplus.”

“I … You … Where is he? I mean, I haven’t seen you before, only your partner … if you are who you say you are.”

He sighed and grabbed the man’s tunic: “There, there he is, and he need access to the ship’s medic bay immediately, and you are prolonging this, unnecessarily!”

The man wriggled out of his grasp: “Oh Kriff! He’s not dead, is he?”

“What did I just say about the med-bay. Do we have a deal? You get the money and leave us alone for it?” He took an intimidating step towards the smaller man.

“Yes, yes. Just do what you want to do. I’ve never been here. For the love of my life, I don’t want troubles with Mandalorians.”

He grunted and went into the compartment to get Dargak. With the code he opened the Keldab, then he picked up the unconscious man. He was heavy in his arms. The port official was still standing dumbfounded where he had left him. He nodded once again his gratitude and entered the ship.

Under the bright lights of the med-bay he could make out the discolouring of the blacks fabric of Dargak’s cowl and flightsuit. Carefully he pealed the neck scarf off and sucked in his breath. Where the Beskar didn’t reach metal shrapnels and splinters from the hoversled had found their way into the red skin.

He had to work especially carefully beneath the helmet, along the neck. The Zabrak had lost enough blood already. Keeping the forceps steady, one by one the metal pieces landed with a slink in the small try on the stand which he had pulled closer to the cot. Once a splinter was removed, he immediately treated the wound with a small injection of Kolto. There were more metal fragments in Dargak’s arm which he removed too. After he had dressed his limb too, he sat heavily at the end of the cot.

His hands were red with Dargak’s blood, he had to clean them before he could think of dressing his leg where a slug had left a deep furrow. He didn’t feel like moving at all, but a moment and a sigh deep enough to heave his chest plate later he started to work on his cuisse and trousers.

It was enough to clean the long furrow, to dab it with some Kolto and then to wrap it. He was about to pull up his trousers again when a sound of annoyed disgust made him look back.

“Could think of nicer things to wake up to than a hairy arse.”

He huffed amusedly: “And I could think of nicer things to drag back to the ship than your heavy and unconscious ass after you have dragged us into such a mess.”

“Not my fault. Inadequate information.” Dargak pulled himself to a sitting position, ostentatiously favouring his right side.

“Just keep resting. I get us back to Coruscant to pick up the payment. Then we can work out the route to set the next beacons. I have given it a thought already. Even if the client cuts the credits, it should be enough for enough beacons for four to six planets. Thought about scratching a line from Kashyyyk to Iego, Korriban and Yavin before we head back to Garos.”

He noted how Dargak tensed at the mentioning of the planet that had played a role in his past, but finally and with a sigh he sank back. Although he couldn’t see the Zabrak’s face, he knew that he had probably closed his eyes, that he would soon fall back into a slumber. He smiled wryly under his own helmet. It had been a long time since he had worked together with someone, since someone had seemingly trusted him that much. It had been too long and despite the problems he had had with the fiery Zabrak and his interpretation of the Creed as well as his stranger powers marking him as one of the sorcerers, he found it comforting. He found that it was something he didn’t want to miss anymore and he started to look forward to the time he would spend with Dargak. He found that he promised himself to learn more about him, his belief and his sorcery.

-*-*-*-

“This description, it is definitely not much. What about living quarters, hang-outs, customs? Anything worthwhile?”

He flustered at the impertinent tone of the hunter: “That’s your job, it’s not my problem that it took you a week to get here. The last time I saw the asset was at the med-centre. Now do your job. You get paid handsomely when the contract is fulfilled.”

-*-*-*-

Again he found himself at the market. The med-centre had proven a dead-end. No one was willing to give him information and hiding out, watching those who came and left had proven futile too.

Since the early morning he had sat on watch. The first stall owners were locals. It was quick work on their side to set up their goods and open their stalls. Also the first customers were from Ariana, although he could detect some farmers who obviously didn’t live too far off.

He decided to make another round, from his vantage point he could see most of the market, but not all, a small corner closer to the port was hidden from his view. Quietly he slipped off the roof and set off. Beneath the wide-rimmed hat he let his eyes sweep – too old, too alien, too small and too slim, wrong sex, wrong species.

He suppressed a grunt of annoyance and rounded the last corner – black cloak, black gloves, right size and form. The mal figure, also cloaked, next to his asset distracted him momentarily. Maybe this wasn’t his target. But then he heard a word in a language he didn’t understand. But he could place this language – Mando’a.

His client had said that his target had been with one of the helmeted warriors, it was his target! He swore. He had hoped that he could do his job without one of the armoured fighters nearby. A quick thought stilled his hand as it hovered over his blaster. If this target wore armour under the cloak too, he would be in trouble.

Quickly he looked around. Customers were already drawing closer although they hadn’t completely set up their stall. He swore more, too many witnesses and he was none to mow down a herd of bystanders. Not that he would have minded the casualties, but it would draw his attention from his actual target.

He needed to know more. Were they armoured, did they wear an armour and where were its weaknesses. His client had mentioned the asset’s temper, maybe he could tamper with that. Mingling with the crowed he came to a stand in front of the stall and eyed the arrangement.

“Quite some price for this junk.” Slyly he eyed the cloaked figure from under his hat.

“Young man, watch your tongue.” He felt the poke against his ribs and looked to the side and down from where it came.

“Contrary to you, my eye still see well, granny.” He bared his yellowed broken teeth as he snared at the wrinkled and old woman.

“I’d appreciate if you left my customers alone. If you don’t find my goods to your liking, there are enough stalls to satisfy your needs.”

He recognized the modulation immediately. His target wore a helmet. He swore. A helmet normally meant more armour.

“Stuff it, you Bantha-shit.” He grinned wider as both cloaked figures tensed. “You are just some Sith-spawn that rips the people here off their money!”

“Sith-spawn?!” The growl that came from under the asset’s hood froze his blood.

Quickly he swallowed: “Yeah, you and that scraggy Mando. But probably you need it so much that you would ride even a womp-rat. Maybe he is a womp-rat, one that has learnt to stand on two legs.”

He bellowed out his laugh, but he was the only one that found his joke funny.

Even less funny was the roar from opposite the stall: “Everybody. Out .Of. The. Way.”

He hadn’t thought that his asset held any authority, but as he watched all the people around him scramble out of the way as quickly as they could he started to doubt the words of the magistrate. Again a jab into his ribs made him look down to the old hag.

“Say goodbye to this world, youngling.” With a cackle she waddled off.

He huffed, partly to despise the old woman, partly to dissolve the uncomfortable feeling that rose in him.

“The magistrate sent you.” It was not a question, they spoke with the conviction of knowledge.

“No one sent me.”

“So, I just got to meet you on your wrong foot, youngling?” The taunt was rich in the modulated voice, he could literally see the malicious smirk accompanying it.

“What’s my head worth?”

He chose to not answer this question with words, only his hand inched closer to his blaster. Somehow he had imagined this would run differently.

“Is it worth your life?” Whereas interest spoke from the question before, this time something sinister laced the words.

It sent a shiver up his spine, but he was too far into it to pull back now. He calculated what he knew of armours and their weaknesses. There were a few, only the darned cloak obscured the aim. He had just to rely on his luck.

“Not my life that is at stake.” He knew that he was fast, many had told him so. And a few notches on his blaster spoke of it too. Some had laughed that he kept count, other had called him silly or stupid.

His fingers twitched. With the cloak in the way he couldn’t see the asset’s hands. Were they close already? With the hood he couldn’t see their eyes. Were they scared? He felt his heart beating heavily and the dull sound droned out the sound of anything around him.

It didn’t matter. Not anymore. His fingers were curling around the blaster’s butt and he lifted it. A dull thudding sound and a louder pinging noise was all he heard besides the thud of his heart. Had it always beat so loudly? Had it always so fast? So fast that he couldn’t distinguish between the single beats anymore. Had it always … --- --- ---

-*-*-*-

He had seen the small sign of her hand. She wanted him to hold back. She had everything under control. But that didn’t keep his heart from accelerating its beat. Watching closely, he kept alert and only when the man in the wide hat hit the dirt face first did he relax again.

“You ok?”

“Yes, he just got the Beskar.”

He walked over to the dead man and turned him over with his foot: “Who was he and what did he want?”

She cleared her voice before she answered: “Maybe I have upset the magistrate somehow. Just a tiny bit. Certainly not enough to send a hunter after me.”

He could only shake his head at the bashful giggle that followed: “What if there are others?”

“Hm. Maybe I should just ask him to not send more, then.”

He didn’t like the insinuation, but before he could answer the crowd already drew in again. Asking, wondering and giving their opinion in loud and overlapping voices. Instantly he felt like he wanted to be anywhere else. Since he had been able to leave the med-centre he was used to the quietness of their cave, especially their own private little cavern which he hadn’t left often during his time of healing.

When he had left their cavern then it was to stay with Rook. Sometimes he felt like a youngling again. A youngling who hungered after the stories that the adults told about the great warriors. Only in his case the stories he hungered after were stories that involved Tror Tern, his father. In return he told about his life. About how he and Tulata had fared, about his training and time in the fighting corps, about how he had met and befriended a foundling, about his training as a bounty hunter and his hunts with Din. And Rook even remembered the former foundling in the red robe.

It had been a time of rest and healing and when Paz and Dargak returned, their small tribe had seemed complete. But ever since his conversations with Rook he found his thoughts returning to Din more and more often. Once Dargak had found him sitting deep in thought on the fallen tree and when he had confided in him the new the Zabrak had about a Mando’ad in Beskar had him jarred.

Was it wrong to hope? When Din had left it had been in a hurry and in a mess. Din’s actions had made them reveal themselves and consequently drawn the Imps’ attention. But he didn’t want to put the blame on Din. He would have gone for the Beskar too. The only thing he blamed Din for, was that he hadn’t talked to them, not even him. The only thing he blamed Din for, was that he hadn’t thought of their friendship, that he hadn’t trusted him enough to ask him for help.

It took him several weeks to shake off the feeling and to return to a kind of normality again. Harvesting the green stones in the craters and the gems at the beach helped. Working on a cavern for Rook and constructing more furniture for him was useful. Teaching the younglings and spending time with the smallest ones was enjoyable.

But what helped him most was his time with Vayra. He had waited the time he had been told at the med-centre, and even longer due to the time he needed to heal. But then they both had made up for it. The other did no longer smirk or giggle when they vanished all of a sudden, they only drew tired sighs which made them giggle even harder then. He felt like a pubescent teenager with more hormones than blood in his system.

Something else that helped him immensely was the whole problem of courting. He knew that making love to his _meshurok_ was not enough, bringing their meals to their private cavern was not sufficient. He went on hunts and also brought the surplus to the Sundari farmers. He found a tree with sweet fruits and after making sure they were not poisonous he brought her the best and sweetest ones. He replaced her broken vibroknife with his spare, which was still brand new. And he asked Rook to make the armlet with the two gemstones.

But whatever he did, Vayra seemed to get restless, her sleep got more disturbed and sometimes he woke up and her side of the bed was cold.

-*-*-*-

“They last one was a rookie. I hope you are more professional.”

His upper lip moved in disgust, not that the man could see it beneath his helmet. He didn’t know who the man actually was, but he was sure that he lived a good life – his round form spoke of it, he knew that he was used to ordering people around – his arrogance and choice of words told him as much.

“I was told that the asset tried to get information from the idiot. So I took these precautions.”

His client had arrived with a sleek ship. He had been allowed to enter the ship, but just up the ramp. There a separating wall had been set up and with the lights setting he could only make out the man’s silhouette.

“It has taken great efforts to get this fob, so use it wisely. Once you have eliminated, and only then, the fob will stop. You see there is no way of cheating me. Again, once the target and thus the fob is dead the credits will be transferred automatically.”

He was to not see the man again, and he was grateful for it, as the man made his skin crawl with disgust.

-*-*-*-

She woke up and although there was no way to tell the time in the darkness of the cavern, she knew that it was still in the dead of the night. With a shaking hand she wiped over her brows, down over her face to her neck. She was soaked, drenched in sweat. Her heart was beating fast, much too fast, her ears rang with the thumping sound.

Something had woken her, it hadn’t been one of her nightmarish dreams, those had become scarcer. It just had been a feeling, and it still lingered. Quietly she untangled her feet from Tharam’s long limbs, stilling when he shifted and rolled over. With him facing away from her it was much easier to slide out of the bed. She shifted the blanket so that he wouldn’t miss the warmth of her body.

At this time of the night, no one would be around, at least that was what she hoped, while she slipped the cloak around her shoulders and closed it with its sash. Her bare feet were soundless when she padded through the hallways and outside.

The full moon basked everything in an eery light which seemed to add to her restless mood. It struck her as unnatural, yet it was just this planet’s course and after all these months she should have got used to it. Looking down she watched her feet sink into the high, dark grass. It felt cool and humid with the dew.

There was a slight breeze, and she lifted her head again to let it brush against her damp face.

“You can’t sleep.”

The bass wasn’t questioning, it was insinuating. She sighed, the last person she had wanted to come across was her father, she would have preferred anybody else.

“Can’t hide anything, huh?”

“Nope.” His answer was curt, but when she turned to face him, she saw his wry smile.

“So why can’t you sleep?”

“Something’s going on. You felt it, too.”

She hummed in response: “It’s strange, strong but …”

“… wavering, unfocused.”

It was Dargak’s turn to hum in agreement: “ Untrained.”

“What do you think is it?” It was not that feeling itself that had her on edge, but something that flickered around it.

“Not what … who.”

Her shoulder muscles tensed, and a ripple ran through her body making her shake briefly.

“Close?”

“Not too close, not like round the corner. More like … don’t know … away but within reach. Definitely on-world.”

“Should we leave to protect the others?”

“Don’t think that’s necessary. It’s not like …malicious like on Korriban. But we should be careful and keep a distance. If it draws closer, we will lead it away.”

She nodded quietly and when she felt her father’s arm wrap her into an embrace, she closed her arms behind his back.

“Now get some sleep, the wind was perfect, same as the tide and moon. With some luck we can harvest some _shukeyc dire_ , but we have to get up early.”

She tightened her embrace for a moment before she let go. Her brow furrowed when she looked up at him, but he kept silent, although she saw and felt his worry. He didn’t want to elaborate and so she didn’t want to dig into him, she trusted her father’s assessment.

Although the fresh air had been good for her, she knew that actual sleep would elude her for some time. As quietly as she had left, she went into her quarters again. Her eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness and she had memorised the layout in the last months to make it into the bed without stumbling into something.

That was as long nothing that hadn’t been there before stood in her way. But something did and she collided into Tern’s warm, broad chest. He hissed as her colder hands made contact with his sleep-warm skin.

“Where’ve you been. Was about to search for you.” His voice was gravely from sleep.

“Just outside for a moment, needed fresh air.” She slowly turned him round by his shoulders. “Get back in, I’m with you in a second.”

He grumbled in his raspy voice when she snuggled her cooled body against his. And before she knew, his warmth and tight embrace that had lulled her back to sleep.

When she woke up with the soft sounds of the alarm she felt better rested. Rested in a way that kept the uneasy feeling in check. As planned, they set off with the sun rising, the speeder had been placed in the shuttle as they wanted to separate to cover as much ground as possible before the high tide set in again.

As planned, she and Tern were brought to the mouth of the river to work their sector of the beach up to the north and depending on the richness of their harvest they would meet again in the evening. She watched the shuttle with Dargak and Paz take off again, they would start much further in the north, at a part of the beach, which had also proved promising.

Dargak had indeed been right, the weather would be perfect. Only a few clouds dotted the sky and the rising sun lit up the yellow sand of the beach. They left the speeder high up on the beach and started their search for eon-old raisin where last night’s high tide had been.

It was slow work, more than once the warrior asked her if his find was really a _shukeyc dire_ or just one of the billions of yellowish stones. His intuition was often right, but it was time consuming as they had spread out more and more. Walking back and forth, finding her last position again took too much time.

“Let me try something …,” she had been called her over once again. Reaching up she tried different settings of the visor while Tern held out different pieces of the light stones. A victorious shout had him chuckle loudly, she had found a wavelength in which the raisin shone up, and he was delighted and off at the same moment caught by a hunting fever.

She shook her head with a laugh, his childlike enthusiasm was addictive. Picking up where she had left, she continued her search. The sand bank near the river’s mouth was heavyset with the spoils from the sea. But there were more she could see now with the different optical setting. Not brought in by the sea but washed out by the river and the pieces were bigger, not having been grinded down against the sea’s bottom by the constant movement of the water.

She made her way farther down the river, constantly lured by yet another finds, venturing deeper inland. Crossing the river at a shallow and narrow area she moved back towards the beach when a flare of colours blinded her. She staggered onto her knees and pressed her eyes close to keep the blaze at bay. Her heart hammered in her chest, the uneasiness had return, stronger than the night before.

She had to warn the others, her father would know what to do. Her hand shook and her fingers quivered as she hacked in the one-word-message. “Hey.” This would get their attention. She typed her command, she was about to send it, her mind spinning, alert and dull at the same time. What she wrote could be heard by anyone who happened to come across their agreed-on frequency.

Decode. She needed to decode it. She swore as she tried to remember the correct code: _long-short-short – – short-long – – long-short – – long-long-short – – short– – short-long-short_. It would send the message as interference, a crackling that distorted the frequency.

Throwing up the cloak’s hood she turned and ran off inland again. There were bushes and small trees, these would give her some cover. Like and Ash-rabbit she wove her wave further away from the beach to the south, to the east, more to the north, back south. Somehow, she had to try to outrun and surround whatever was coming for them, for her.

Running in the marsh soaked her boots, running in the moor coated her cloak, running through the dune caked anything that had become damp. Her sides burnt and her frantic breath coated the inside of her visor.

Using hands and feet she scrambled up the dune, from there she wanted to run along the beach to reach the mound of the river and past it the speeder. But she had come out on the beach much more to the south than she had anticipated. From the top of the dune she could see the flat, sandy area and she stopped dead, jerking her blaster out she started at the ship.

Old and beaten, yet still proud and well-maintained, the silver hull shining in the sunlight stood the pre-imperial gunship. With each glint of the ship in the sun she became aware that it shone with even more radiant colours than she had ever seen. Not the ship itself, but something at the end of the ship, something on the lowered ramp, the very something her blaster was aiming at, the moment she had noticed a small movement.

It pulled at her, beckoned to her, wanted her to come closer. But the unease grew in her again, something was getting closer, something that she had been able to keep at bay while running. It would only take a few moments she argued with herself and reached up to adjust the optical setting of the visor. She needed to know what was so radiant and strong in the Force.

“What are you? Who are you?” Her words were not heard over the wind and the crushing waves.

Her cloak cracked like a whip with the violent gush the western wind sent against her. Captured she stared at the ramp. It took an effort for her to concentrate enough to activate her comlink again: “It’s an old ship. Leave now!”

Her father’s answer was distorted over the howling wind, but she could make it out, they wanted to come. – No! This was not good. She wanted them as far away as possible! They didn’t know anything about this ship. It was better she explored alone at first.

The tiny figure moved further down the ramp, the pull definitely came from it, she could feel her body answer its call, moving towards it. She felt her cloak thrash loudly against her legs and sides as the wind blew heavily, tugging at her hood and pulling it with it, blinding her as the ship’s reflection beamed into her visor.

Something wilder than the cloak tore high in her side. It felt like a punch, but there was no one there who could have dealt a punch. It felt like a stab, but there was nobody there who could have stabbed her.

Inhaling exploded in white pain, exhaling proved and impossible feat. Copper gathered on her tongue and she tried to swallow it down. Fog gathered on the beach and engulfed the ship, the sea, the dunes.

Something had hit her, and she tried to find out what. Dizzily she shoved her blaster back in its holster. Her ears didn’t register the dull thud as it hit the ground, a small cloud of sand erupting. Her eyes didn’t register the dark glistening wetness on her glove when she retrieved her hand from her side.

Her ears rang with the whine of the wind, they rang the frantic thud of her heart, they rang with the electric static around a baritone: “Kryban, what’s going on?”

She knew this baritone, it was not supposed to come here, _he_ was not supposed to come to the danger, to her. She had to tell him to keep away, Tern had to keep away. Words broke out of her, her brain worked on autodrive, the words made no sense to her. She formed them around the copper and pain, she formed them between futile pants and weak breaths: “ _Ret’urcye … mhi_. Return … to covert. Protect … the tribe.

It was spinning, could a planet spin that fast? Or was it the ship that was spinning around her? It made her dizzy and her footing unsure, she staggered, but the baritone had risen an octave and screeched urgently with the static in her ears again: “Kryban, hang on. I’m coming.”

No! – The fire in her side was ablaze. One last breath, one last effort, one last command: “ _Nayc_! _Cabuor aliit_!”

Her world tumbled heavily again, she stepped back to stabilize herself. The sand, she swore – _the kriffing sand_ – gave in. More pain as she knocked her arm into her side, more pain with each tumbling roll she couldn’t prevent – yellow sand, white cloud, sallow sand, midnight sky, a green-blue silhouette that wrapped round her, stilled her spiralling fall.

 _Why hasn’t he answered – di’kut – you can’t come_.

Pain – so much blaring pain.

Copper – so much metal in her mouth.

Air – so little air.

But she still had so much to say. She so desperately needed all the air she could get to say what she needed him to hear.

“Tern … Pro … protect … the … tribe!”

Warm crimson found its way down her chin into her neck scarf.

“NO! Vayra!” His voice was loud in her ears.

“Don’t leave me! NO! It’s just a scratch! You can make it!”

He was so close, but he drifted farther away. She wanted time to still. She just needed a moment longer to say what she had held back so long. She just needed a sliver of air to get the words past her quivering lips.

 _“Kar … kar’tayl … gar … gar dar … asuum_ ”

More air was pressed out of her and in a lucid second why all the pressure didn’t add to the searing pain in her chest. It almost felt as if it dulled it.

“No! I have you. Stay with me! Vayra!”

Even in her own ears her wheezes sounded pitiful.

More coughs splattered the inside of the visor, red on red.

Air – just for one more inhale – she needed more air: “C-can’t brea … the”

Was he shaking or was her vision even lesser clear without the visor? Her mind seemed clearer, her other senses less so. Everything swam in a listless grey. Everything seemed to drift further away.

“Vara, stay with me! Look at me, please! … No, no, don’t close them! Stay awake!”

It was such a huge effort to open her eyes again, but she had to. How had she longed to hear him say her name. Now that he did, she wanted him to be the last thing she saw, she needed him to be the last thing she touched, she needed him to know what she had to say. The green-blue cheek was hard only warmed by the sun, but she needed to reach it.

“ _Ni … ka-kar’t … ayl gar da-dar … asuum_.”

Without him she couldn’t keep her arm up – it fell. No pain.

Without him she would march – in the darkness. No pressure.

Darkness.

-*-*-*-

Karga had given him a job. One single job, but so highly paid that he could lie low for a longer time, at least some months. He had inquired, why the bounty was so high, but Karga didn’t know. There was only information, it was a former bounty hunter and they wanted them cold.

The holo had told him nothing at all, just a hooded and cloaked form in black. There had not even been any information on their gender or age. Just assumptions – humanoid, likely human, between twenty and fifty. He even in his own ears he sounded defeated when he sighed, this was even less than he had had when he was sent to get his foundling, his son.

He had landed on the planet only guided by the light of the stars and the two moons. While shone in its full beauty, the other only made a half appearance. Halarys hadn’t woken and he didn’t intend to wake her now. The night was just waning, the day barely beginning. Everything was still drowned in the dull grey before the sun announced its appearance.

The soft coo from the makeshift crib on the co-pilot’s seat made him finally move. He placed the little troublemaker into his cot and in a nest of the shirt he had worn last night. Keeping him there, where he could still smell him, had proven most effective in keeping him under control. The green ears twitched as he rubbed them: “Stay here with _buir_. Need to get this job done. Then we have time to rest.”

A quick look told him that Halarys was still asleep and his lips stretched into a smile at how she had occupied his pillow. Since he had slipped out of their shared quarters she had turned over, occupying the whole mattress. Her silvery hair dishevelled from last night’s love-making. With last night’s caressing he had tried to make up for what he was about to do. She had not been thrilled, to say the least, that he had taken on a job again. He had tried to shake off the gradually growing feeling that she might be right with her bad feelings about it. Silently he closed the door again.

Quietly he opened the locker to his weapons, slung the Amban rifle over his shoulder and clasped it. After a final check on his blaster and sticking another one behind the belt in his back he closed the locker. The tracking fob was blinking slowly.

There was only one fob, Karga had emphasised. It was an updated version, just for him, Karga had said. He had been ordered to give it only to his best, Karga had whispered. One that would send verification on elimination immediately, Karga had pointed out. One that wouldn’t require him to return to gather the credits, they would be transferred to a single usage account, collectible anywhere, Karga had winked.

With a last look back, he closed the ramp of the Crest and started following the signal of the fob. The direction was clear towards where the river met the sea. He decided to go straight through the dunes, they gave him cover. And it didn’t take him long, a look at the fob indicated that he was getting closer. Only a small cluster of wind-beaten trees blocked his view to the river where he knew his quarry to be – no clear range, he swore as he carefully made to make his way around it.

But he got distracted, his HUD picked up a frequency: “Hey. …” He was about to answer when a quick succession of static crackles made it into his helmet’s system: CRZ crz crz – – crz CRZ – –Crz crz – – CRZ CRZ crz – – crz– czr CRZ czr. . – He tried other frequencies, without luck.

He swore more when he had to wave the fob to the side to get a clear signal again. His quarry was all of a sudden moving. And they were moving fast, distancing themselves from him. He stilled, there was no way he could have been detected. So what had made the quarry run?

Keeping at the edges of the dunes gave him the best cover, but the sand slowed him. Instead of getting himself worked up over it, he followed calmly. Constantly panning the fob, he stomped on until he had to re-adjust his way again. But the signal was getting stronger again and a grim smile slowly tucked at the corners of his lips.

Following the trail, the quarry had taken was wearing on his patience. They were constantly weaving their way, but he detected a pattern, they tried to get back to the mound of the river. He was so sure of it that he risked a short-cut.

Then – the peeping became a constant sound. He was close. He would have almost missed it over the crashing waves, but then he saw the wave of the dark cloak high on a dune.

He swore, they had led him a chase. His guess had been right, they were back on their way towards the mound of the river. Their chase had led him all the way around, he froze, all the way back to the Crest.

Their back was towards him, but they looked towards the Crest! His helmet sharply turned to his ship. The ramp was lowered – he had closed it to keep them safe! _Halarys_! _Kar_! His little womp rat was standing in the middle of the ramp.

The hooded head was turned towards it. At his small movement, their gun had come up in an instant, pointing at the ship, at the ramp! At his son! They had seen him!

He ripped his Amban rifle forward, sank onto a knee and started to aim. Then things happened – within seconds, almost simultaneously: 

**One** – His HUD picked up the frequency again, with interferences, the information only partly understandable. He realised that they hadn’t addressed _him_ – they were not alone!

“~*~ _old ship_.~*~” --- “~*~ _be there in a_ ~*~” - - “

 **Two** – The cloaked figure was turning around, facing his son, their gun still pointing.

 **Three** – His finger curled around the trigger. The hammer fell on the cartridge, a flare of red fled from the muzzle of his rifle.

 **Four** – A gust of wind blew back the hood and a red T cut into a black helmet reflected the sun.

 **Five** – The figure shook, the helmet sank to look at their side, their hand tried to holster the gun, they missed, and the gun fell to the ground. They reached for their side, they looked at their gloved hand.

“ _Kry_ ~*~ going on?” - - “ _Ret’ur_ ~*~ _cov_ ~*~ _ribe_ ”

He reloaded, aimed again. Then he stalled. They staggered, found their balance again.

“ _Kryba_ ~*~ _I’m com_ ~*~” - - “ _Nayc_ ~*~”

They staggered again and then their legs gave in. They tumbled backwards, vanished from his sight, back down, away from the beach where his ship stood, back down to somewhere among the dunes.

It tore him from his stun. His heart hammered in his chest. Before he knew what he was doing he started to rise and ran towards the last known position of his quarry, veering at the sight of the dip the dune took.

Then he heard the hard breathing, the wheezing – even over the crackling interferences.

“ _Tern_ ~*~ _tect_ ~*~ _tribe_ ”

He skidded to a halt. His breath was shaky, but not from running. Could he have heard correctly – _Tern_ – he only knew one person with that name – could it really be?!

“ _Kar_ ~*~ _suum_ ” - - “ _No_! ~*~ _have you. Stay with me_! ~*~ _ra_!”

His legs carried him even faster up the sandy dune. On its top he stopped dead in his track again. The cloaked figure, his bounty, was down in the valley. The cloak laid sprawled open, the golden sand beneath a pearl black armour turned red in a spreading pool.

An armour. A Beskar armour. A black helmet with a red T-visor. He had shot at a _Mando’ade_! He had killed a _Mando’ade_!

His bounty – the _Mando’ade_ – was not alone! He could only see the back of the warrior, but the green-blue armour kneeling next to them was familiar – Tern, the other _beroya_.

Tern – a member of the Nevarro tribe who had survived!

Beskar armour – He had killed a _Mando’ade_! One that Tharam Tern knew!

Paz – on Naboo, he remembered his words – “… _Tharam fell for her from the first moment. He and Vayra have something running ...seriously running_ …”

His brain was in uproar – whirling around these facts until it made him dizzy.

He reeled inwardly, but he was unable to move. He watched transfixed as the kneeling Mandalorian unclasped the helmet of the prone warrior.

He scampered back, he needed more distance before he got to see what was forbidden.

Dark copper hair, long hair – it was a woman – Tharam and a woman.

He tried to pry his eyes away.

Away from the copper hair.

Away from the pale features he could barely make out.

Away from the streak of red that ran from the corner of her lips over her cheek.

Away – it was impossible. It was not possible to un-hear the desperate voice of his _vod_.

“Vayra, stay with me. Look at me, please! … No, no don’t close them. Stay awake!”

The woman tried to lift her hand, the warrior – he knew that voice and its modulation, it was Tharam Tern – took it and held it to the dented part of his helmet.

The crackling had ended, he could her them, their voices.

He could hear her faltering voice. The faltering voice of the woman Tharam loved, of Vayra: “ _Ni … ka-kar’t … ayl gar da-dar … asuum_.”

He wanted to scream, to turn, to look away, or just to breathe – his _vod_ reached up and he heard the telling hiss of the helmet’s seal – he was spellbound.

A strangled sound escaped his vocoder – he couldn’t place this voice, this couldn’t be his voice.

Even the unfamiliar voice coming through the sliced com couldn’t pull him out: “Incoming. Got your position.” It was not enough to tear him away.

His eyes barely registered the shock of brown hair pressing against the dark copper mane.

His brain hardly listed the stilling of the tracking fob, it had expired. His job was completed – the _Mando’ade_ – Vayra – was dead.

His heart did hear the scream of raw anguish that came from the _beroya_ he had hunted with.

And then he felt the tug at his leg.

He had become one of the droids, reacting automatically, moving mechanically.

Pick up his foundling – Step towards the cowering figure – Stop when the struggling against his chest made him lose his grip – Release the tiny bundle to the ground where it was safe to make his way on his own.

He stepped back, up the dune. He knew what would come as his foundling quickly waddled to the still woman.

He stepped back, up the dune. He hoped that it would work, just as it had worked with Karga.

He stepped back, up the dune to turn at its crest. He turned before he could actually see any of their faces, so far, he hadn’t seen anything by the colour of hair, no one had been compromised, nothing had been broken.

He turned, on the crest. Not true, he had broken something, someone, a _vod_.

He turned and his head was torn to the side.

Stars exploded in his head. Blinding light as his head was ripped back. Churning darkness as the punches rearranged his innards. He hit the sand hard. He struggled up, just to be hit by another black hammer.

Everything erupted in flashes.

Flashes of red and black.

Flashes of pain.

He was barely able to cover, to block the first hits. Then no more, for one hit blocked he got hit twice which he couldn’t block. He had turned into a punching bag – head, ribs, kidney, head, liver, ribs. Twisting away from one paint he took the brunt of the next punch. One after the other, all of them. He didn’t feel his legs anymore, he went down again. Even the sand seemed intent on punishing him, no time to struggle up again.

A heavy weight crushed him deeper into the sand. The snarling face of a Zabrak materialized in the limited sight of his visor and his blurring vision. His hands clasped around the death grip that threatened to crush his windpipe. He pried at the hands, tore at them. He bucked at the weight on his chest, reared at it.

Each attempt made him weaker, each attempt at getting some air into his lungs turned into a wheeze. His heart pumped in his ears, his vision started to narrow at the edges, blurring more and swim into nothingness. A last weak attempt at pawing at the fists throttling him.

A waver of dull blue made the red-black disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long-short-short – – short-long – – long-short – – long-long-short – – short– – short-long-short: just the simple morse code for D-A-N-G-E-R  
> Ret’urcye mhi: Goodbye - lit. Maybe we'll meet again  
> Nayc! Cabuor aliit: Protect the family/tribe.  
> Kar … kar’tayl … gar … gar dar … asuum: I love your forever/eternally.  
> buir: parent; father, mother  
> beroya: bounty hunter  
> vod: brother; comrade, mate
> 
> My greatest thanks go to @TheHeartOfAMandalorian: My dear friend thank you for having been there for me and my story, for being so supportive and for all your lovely post and responses to each and every chapter.. if it weren't for you I would have stopped writing or at least posting ages ago. Thank you for letting me use Halarys (there will be more of her in the next chapter and I fear you will have to proof read before I post it .. WOOF YA!


	49. Green is fulfilling a contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know the last chapter had a bad cliffhanger and thus I release thee from the tension :-)  
> enjoy and please leave a comment :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you @ TheHeartOfAMandalorian for making this cross-eyed possible by letting me use your very own and very awesome character Halarys.  
> Thank you for your support and help. I am very Woff Ya!

He knew something was wrong. The interferences were getting stronger. Only once he heard Tharam’s voice clearly enough. “ _NO! Vayra_!” Feverishly he hacked into the control panel, into the pad, the panel again.

“Can’t get a clear signal. What’s going on down there.” The heavy infantry’s voice sounded angry, but it only betrayed his worry.

“Something’s happened.” He was sure of that, Tharam had sounded desperate. “Not sure what. It’s serious.” The younger man had sounded frantic. “Tharam’s there.” He was still punching in codes, and codes to override codes. Finally, he had sliced it: “Got them.”

“Incoming. Got your position.” He turned the shuttle and bee-lined to the position indicated on the computer.

“Any answer?” The leather of the seat creaked for mercy under the iron grip of the heavy infantry.

“No…” His teeth screaked for mercy as he clenched his jaws shut.

“Hurry this hunk of junk up!”

Felling Paz’s desperation only slightly eased the panic he felt. He was not alone in there. They might not have always been on good terms, but they had found an agreement. Enough for the heavy infantry to care for his daughter as if she were one of his tribe.

The ship he could make out on the beach was old, pre-imperial and it was open. No one was to be seen near it. He set the shuttle down in a cloud of fine yellow sand. His fingers punched the code to open the hatch.

The last thing he heard over the speakers of the shuttle before he left it was a scream. He knew this voice, he had heard this kind of scream already once, on Ossus, in the combat circle – Tharam’s anguished cry of loss.

He used the frame of the shuttle to his advantage, he used the momentum to change his direction and then he raced towards the dip between the crests of the two closest dunes. Somewhere beyond was the stationary location of the two red dots on the shuttle’s computer. And a third red dot.

A figure, its back towards him, with a long Amban gun came into sight as it was stepping back up the dune. One step after another, it was retreating from something he was witnessing behind the dunes.

His feet stomped into the fine sand, it made him slide back, the sand was giving way under the weight of his armour and heavy body. It felt like it wanted to prevent him from reaching the armour-clad figure with the rifle.

It enflamed his rage further, crackling blue sparks spread along his fists and into the sand as he straightened from his stumble. Yellow eyes turned to slits as the wind blew sand into his face.

Dargak’s eyes saw, but his brain didn’t register. The sun radiated its strong beams off his silvery armour and helmet, the last rays caught in the dark visor as the man turned.

Dargak’s muscles felt, but his brain didn’t decipher. His gloved fist connected with the Beskar helmet. He let go of a snarl. His next punch hooked into the padded area of the flak vest, sending the man down into the sand. His growl came from deep in his chest where his anger burnt the hottest.

When the man struggled to come to a stand in the sand, he jerked him up just to land another hook to the kidneys. He was blocked so he went for the other side. He doubled his effort as his fist connected with the warrior’s ribs just beneath his silver cuirass. His own growl covered the pained grunt of the man in silver.

Then the other man’s resistance waned, not a single counter punch was thrown, the few blocks became even scarcer. Another hook and the man in Beskar went down again, slid down in a wave of sand.

He went after him, used his weight to pin him down as his fists found their way into the dark cowl. His own snarl was louder than the wheezed gasps.

Orange-tipped gloves tore at his hands that were claw-like around the writhing warrior’s throat. He felt the thrashing become weaker, less directed. The gloves swatted more than they tore. It would be over in a few moments.

He didn’t feel the huge vambraces slide under his armpits, but he felt his arms being jerked up as massive hands locked behind his neck.

He writhed, coiled, strained and tore. His shoulder sockets levered until he howled in impotent rage and pain.

“ _Gev_! … Dargak! … You’re killing him!”

He didn’t care what the heavy infantry had to tell him. “He shot her!” His hate spread towards the heavy infantry holding him so expertly.

-*-*-*-

He knew something was wrong. Her voice, her breathing. He had picked up her position when she had informed him that she was going to investigate the ship. He had told her to be careful. He had had a bad feeling.

Still way back in the moor he saw her standing on the dune. Then – the crack of a shot. She was staggering, she went down. He felt his own heart stop. Then he accelerated disregarding his own safety and raced down the low slope that still separated them. He was off the bike as she hit the sand. He ran up the dune to stop her tumbling fall down the sand.

“NO! Vayra!”

He untangled her form, cradled her in his arm. He didn’t have to search for the wound, too obvious the dark patch at her side and the spreading stain in the sand told him where she had been hit. He pressed his hand against her ribs. Her blood seemed to gush out between his gloved fingers.

“Don’t leave me!” He pressed harder against her ribs.

“NO! It’s just a scratch! You can make it!” He had to hear it, maybe with saying these words loudly …, maybe they would come true then.

She was shaking in his arm: “ _Ni … ka-kar’t … ayl gar da-dar … asuum_.”

“No! I have you. Stay with me! Vayra!” She was fading, so fast, too fast. He suppressed a sob as he inhaled, a rattle went through his voice cords similar to the rattling that came from her inhales.

“C-can’t brea … the”

His hands were shaking, his glove left glistening stains on her helmet. Carefully he pulled it off, steeling himself for the sight that awaited him.

But nothing could have prepared him. She was so pale, her eyes so glossy, pupils thrown wide.

“Vara, stay with me! Look at me, please! … No, no, don’t close your eyes! Keep them open! Stay awake!”

She wanted to lift her hand, he had to help her. He pressed her hand against his dented cheek part.

Her voice was faltering: “ _Ni … ka-kar’t … ayl gar da-dar … asuum_.”

Irrational – it might keep her, might make her stay with him. He wanted her to see him.

Her blood on his gloves left stains on his helmet as he ripped it off.

Rational – she was leaving, marching away. She grew limp in his arms. He had waited too long!

“Nnn …ooo … aaa ... wwww ... rr ... gg … hhh!!!” He reared up with his cry just to sink back down against her, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

The scent, which he knew was hers, was invaded by the metallic smell of blood. He looked up again and blinked his bleary eyes at her pale face. He wished she would look at him, but her eyes remained closed. Slowly he wiped the trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. He only smeared more blood, blood from her side.

He whispered against her lips the words he should have said much earlier, when she still would have been able to hear and to repeat them. Now, he was no longer able to complete them – _Mhi solus … dar’tome, mhi … me’dinui an_ – the only lines of the vows that made sense anymore.

He didn’t see it coming closer – he just felt her still body. She was gone.

He didn’t see its hand reaching out to her side – he just felt the dead weight he clung to and rocked in slow motions. She had gone on marching.

He didn’t see its eyes close in concentration – he just felt darkness take possession of his mind. She was marching far away.

Then he felt it. – The expanding of her chest, the deep wheezed inhale that ended in a yelp.

Then he saw it. – Her eyes, wide in shock and bewilderment, staring up at him.

Then he tasted it. – The metallic copper of her blood as his lips crushed into hers.

He had to rip himself off her lips: “ _Ner meshurok, ner kar’ ta._ ”

Then he heard it. – The tiny thump of a petite bundled form falling over with a soft thud next to her side, next to the pool of blood.

And – he heard the hard, metallic thumps, thuds and knocks of a fight, the modulated sounds of pain and groans of agony.

He heard the dark modulated bass, he knew this voice, it was Paz: “ _Gev_!” – Grunts of struggle. – “Dargak!” – Snarls of rage. – “You’re killing him!”

“He shot her!” This was no longer the voice of the Zabrak, it was the snarl of a raging animal.

He could barely whisper: “She’s alive.”

Frantically he tore his gloves off. He had to touch her, with his bare hands. He had to run his hands over her face, gaze into her seeing eyes. He couldn’t believe, neither his hands nor his eyes. But she was blinking at him, she was breathing, she was alive.

They didn’t hear him. “She’s alive!”

He had to kiss her, to taste the smile that tiredly tugged at the corners of her mouth.

They didn’t listen. “She is alive!!!”

He had to feel her chest rising, with his hand under the lower end of her cuirass, to feel the pulse on her neck with his bare fingers.

They didn’t register him.

“ _Mhi solus … tome._ ” He was able to hear her voice. And her words made his world spin – again.

“ _GEV_! All of you! SHE IS ALIVE!” He had to scream at them.

-*-*-*-

“ _GEV_! All of you! SHE IS ALIVE!”

He flinched, it was Tharam’s voice again. A shiver ran through him as his mind slowly registered the meaning of the words, sanity returned slowly. He willed himself to relax, to hang limply in the subduing hold, to find his breath again.

His brain was working overtime to catch up with the time of his short-circuiting. It had been Tharam’s voice, all the time Tharam’s voice, trying to tell him what he needed to hear – _She Is Alive_ – a voice full of relief. Nothing of the anguish was left in his voice, gratitude had replaced it.

-*-*-*-

His loud scream which was directed at the men made her shiver. She flinched in his arms. But it stopped the three men. He quickly turned his head back to her. Away from those who had never seen his face and who had been too involved to register him. She furrowed her brows at him and never had he seen anything more beautiful.

His eyes flickered over her face as she stared up at him transfixed. When she reached for his face, the world stilled around him – again.

A tentative smile spread his lips: “ _Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner meshurok_.”

Her voice was a weak whisper, but it was heaven in his ears: “I knew it. You are … I’m going to marry a handsome man. _Ner mesh’la_ _riduur_.”

It made him smile and it made him blush and he tried to hide his embarrassment behind a snort.

At his back it had become quiet, it made his smile die – his helmet, the Creed. But they were … weren’t they …? “ _Aliit_?”

She turned her head to look past him and slowly started to nod, but then she stopped: “All but one.”

Paz and Dargak – _aliit_. The shooter – _aruetii_. He bent and while he kissed her, he reached for his helmet. With it back in its place he turned to look at the three men who stood like a frozen holo-drama.

A dull blue armour held the Zabrak in a subduing hold, his arms slid under the armpits and interlaced at the neck of the warrior in black – _Paz_.

The Zabrak panted in the hold he had been struggling against, his face slowly unfurling from the fearsome mask of rage – _Dargak_.

A groaning man, holding his midriff, feebly moving on the ground. The silvery armour shone dully in the sun as he started to struggle weakly to a sitting position on the sand – A Mandalorian – fairly new and unpainted Beskar. He knew only one like that, he had come back with a camtono full of Beskar imprinted with the Imperial signet – Djarin.

His brain started to process, updating him, making him grasp what had proceeded. Then his rage broke loose: “D J AAA R II N!”

-*-*-*-

Panting heavily, he watched Tharam coming up the dune. There was purpose in Tharam’s step until he halted, for a moment. Then he heard the younger warrior’s voice again, full of realisation and rage.

“DJARIN!”

-*-*-*-

His walk turned into a sprint and he rushed at the silver armour and tackled the warrior back to the ground. His forearm pressed into the dark cowl and pinned the man beneath him down, his right found its way to the unprotected side, serving vicious punches and hooks.

Each made the hunter under him grunt. He registered the cracking sound and the hunter’s low grunt turned into a yell of pain with his next punch into his ribs.

-*-*-*-

The green-blue warrior he had come to love like his own _ad_ bore up the dune and hurled himself at the prone warrior in silver Beskar, punching the living hell out of him.

He heard it, the crack it was loud enough to pull him and Paz out of their frozen state. Where the heavy infantry alone had been able to pry him off the unfamiliar warrior, he now had to help him to tear Tharam off the warrior who screamed in agony.

-*-*-*-

Hands grabbed at him, wanted to pull him back. He tore loose and served more punches into the yelling man. Suddenly he felt losing the ground under his legs where he knelt over the prone silver armour. He was lifted off his feet and torn back.

With frantic movements he tried to see who had detached him from his prey. It was both, the blue and the black warrior who pulled him off and even further back.

-*-*-*-

Where Paz had been enough to hold him in the expert hold, it took now their combined power to force Tharam’s grip open, to pull him back.

Where he had been roaring in anger, Tharam had been absolute silent besides the single scream he had let go. His rage was enough to envelope all three of them in the blazing fire he exuded. Although he had reacted similar to the struggling warrior between them when Paz had pulled him back, the rage Tharam that gave off was dangerously consuming. Consuming in a sense that could mean only one thing – Tharam knew the man in the silver armour. Contrary to him, Tharam knew this man, it dawned on him that this was the other _beroya_ Tharam had been talking about now and then. 

-*-*-*-

He tore at their hold: “YOU ALMOST KILLED HER!” His voice overturned as he screamed at the prone figure.

“I did ... Didn’t know ... A job ... Sorry.” The apologetic murmur was barely audible beneath the wheezes and coughs.

“WHY THE …YOU…” His frantic struggles didn’t free him.

“A job …”

His eyes wandered to the dark fob, still and dark, still gripped tightly in the black gloves with the orange tips.

“Completed.” Never had he heard Djarin’s voice being so monotonous, void of any emotion.

“What … What d-do you m-mean?”

“New fob. It’s dead, she’s dead.” It was as if Djarin was dead, too, his voice definitely was.

If he couldn’t punch the other _beroya_ with his fists he could punch him with his words: “NO. SHE. IS. NOT.”

“For the galaxy she is. … My foundling, my son where …?”

Not hindered by any of the three men Djarin slowly rose and staggered down the low dune towards Vayra and the still bundle. Soft sounds could be heard coming from somewhere in the bundle – snores.

-*-*-*-

He looked at Paz whose helmet was fixed on Djarin. Then he looked at Tharam, he had slowed down and finally came to stand still between them.

A hunter meant a bounty had been placed on his daughter’s head and he didn’t know why. A fob had led the hunter to her: A fob that had gone quiet. A dead fob, a dead quarry. But Tharam had said that she was alive.

He shook his head as if this would make his brain cells work. It was too overwhelming. He would need time to process. He needed to see with his own eyes and feel with his own hands.

He watched the man in the unpainted Beskar armour noisily struggling up and walking down to his daughter – not to his daughter. The man slowly bent to pick up a bundle, his foundling. And he was hit by another presence. It had been there all the time. It had just been covered by Tharam’s flare.

Even though he concentrated on it, he found it calm and dimmed. Still it was more than anybody else’s Force, it surpassed easily his and that of the man they had met on Myrkr. Never had he encountered anything that strong

-*-*-*-

Both men holding him, eyed him thoroughly as he grew still. While Paz’s grip turned bruising and hard, Dargak released him. The Zabrak put both his hands on his helmet and made him look at him. He could see the man’s emotional struggle in his face before he rested his forehead against his: “She is alive, that’s all that counts. Are you okay with that?”

He needed some time. Was he really okay with that? Then he slowly nodded. He was right – she was alive – it was all that counted.

-*-*-*-

His grip on Tharam went lax he was no longer needed here. He wanted to feed his curiosity, but his daughter needed him. Now. He needed to see what it was that was brightening everything with its presence, but he needed to see how his daughter was faring. Now.

-*-*-*-

When she woke up, she was alone. Although she didn’t feel like getting up, she started to wonder where her boys were. And then she remembered. The vague feeling that had simmered at the rim of her conscience ever since they had landed on Garos. The hazy glimmering sensation when Din had told her about his job.

She had tried to tell him what upset her and even their son had seemed to join in her efforts. Something about this job was not right. And nothing Din had said had been able to change her mind, nothing he had done had been able to dissolve her uneasiness.

Rubbing the knuckles over her eyes she tried to get away the sleepiness that still clung to her. How Din was able to be up and about after their long night of sweet lovemaking was beyond her.

Slipping into her flightsuit she froze at the scream of rage and aguish – her husband’s name coming from a voice she didn’t know. Who knew it besides her? Hastily she threw on her cuirass and her helmet. At the yell of pain she grabbed her bag with the medical supplies and raced towards the lowered ramp. She recognized Din’s voice immediately. Only a vocoder would distort a voice like that.

An unfamiliar shuttle made her stop. Had the empire caught up again? No one was to be seen on the beach, but there were imprints in the sand leading up the slope of one of the dunes. Without thinking she sprinted onwards and up the small hill.

An armoured back, unmistakeably Mandalorian. One of her fears disappeared – no Imps.

A dull blue she thought she knew. But what was Paz doing here? And who was he clinging to?

A red and black head adorned with horns. Her heart stopped for a second – a Zabrak, standing in front of Paz. His armour a black that shone seemed to be Mandalorian too. He was holding onto someone. But he was not holding Paz. No, he was reaching out to someone who was hanging in Paz’s unrelenting grip.

But it wasn’t Din, it wasn’t her _riduur_. Never had she seen the green-blue armour before – again she recognized it to be Mandalorian. But where was Din? Anxiously she gazed along the peak of the sandy hill. A movement, a reflection from the sun – only one thing was reflecting the light that way. She sprinted on towards it.

Past Paz who couldn’t see her with his back towards her. Past the strange warrior whose helmet had tilted down. Past the Zabrak in the black armour who had turned and also looked towards Din. Towards Din who was slowly and awkwardly walking towards the three men. He was holding their sleeping son in the crook of his arm. His other arm cradled his side.

Her heart clenched at the tell-tale sign – Din, her Mandalorian, was in pain. She had heard him scream in pain. And her son – their little green bean was asleep. No, not asleep, he was passed out, his Force dim, he had used it. But who had he used it on? Not on Din, he was obviously still in pain, not healed.

Breathlessly she called out to him: “Din! Din? What is this all about? What hap …”

His arm loosened from his side and he slung it round her waist, softly pressing her against him. But there was nothing of his old strength to be felt, he was too much in pain. She could hear his rattling breath, she didn’t even need her stethoscope for it.

His words came laboured, interrupted by wet coughs: “See to her. She’s the asset. You were right. T’was a mistake.”

“Oh, Din!” She felt him sink down onto his knees and sinking down with him she kept him from falling over. When she had helped him to a sitting position she eyed him, probing with the help of her helmet’s scanners. Was she really to help the prone figure down in the slope first? Didn’t need he her help first?

She set the scanners and the HUD started to show the extent of the damage. Several ribs were broken. She knew he could manage with them, but a darker spot told her of an internal bleeding which she wanted to address as soon as possible.

In his sitting position he was no longer swaying and she felt his fingers curl around her forearm: “Please, she’s my _vod’s_ …think she’s his _riduur_.”

She inhaled sharply, his pain and it was not only his physical pain, clouded around her.

“Please, Hal’ika. … The fob’s dead. But Kar … Need to know if she’s …”

It was a short inner debate, but his pleading voice was nothing she could resist. She pressed her forehead against his: “I’ll be quick. Then I will assist you.”

The sand sprayed up to her knees as she ran down. On approaching she took in the display.

The woman’s copper hair was in stark contrast to her dull black armour, her bright green eyes that were staring some where into the distance without focus stood out in her ghostly pale face. The darkened stain in the sand told of how much blood she must have lost.

When she lowered herself and kneeled next to the woman she could hear her labouring breathing. It was worse than Din’s. Her helmet was useless at the moment and she pulled it off. For a second she saw the green eyes widening in a recognition. But what did the woman recognize – they had never met.

“You’re Datho …” A cough shook the prone body and the green eyes squinted close in pain – she could feel a cold wave rush through her.

“Shh, let me help you.” Rummaging in her bag she pulled out the stethoscope. “I need to get under the armour. Is that okay?”

The woman’s weak nod was just a single and minimal move with her head. It had to be enough.

Quickly she opened the front of the flightsuit where it was not covered by the dull black Beskar. It was not much, it had to be enough.

Peeling the fabric back and slipping her fingers under the lower part of the cuirass, she lifted the Beskar protection. Like Din’s armour it was supposed to keep the wearer safe. But by the Gods, despite all the armour, Din had found a way past it.

The woman only flinched slightly, the diaphragm of the stethoscope was uncomfortably cold. She could already hear the wheeze, the rattle that came with each breath, and it seemingly got worse.

“Kriff the Beskar … I need to get closer, higher.” She was mumbling quietly to herself.

The sand next to her was set into motion and shifted in a small cascade. “Let me help.”

Her head whipped up to the bearer of the bass – the Zabrak’s yellow eyes bore into hers. Her nod came instantly: “Off with the cuirass.”

She listened intently – the lung – rattling – the heart – rapidly beating – as she watched the Zabrak’s deft fingers. The mechanisms of the black armour were slightly different to what she was used to from Din’s. The little differences became obvious in the way the tall Zabrak loosened each piece of metal. Then he worked on opening the flightsuit. She quickly shot him a look which he ignored. But then she realized: The way he knew how to dispose of the armour, the way he knew about the closing mechanism of the vest and the flightsuit. His was of the same construction. He was familiar with the wounded woman.

She closely looked at the woman’s face. She had closed her eyes again and only the flattering stomach muscles and the sounds in her stethoscope told her that the woman was still alive. The tight shirt beneath the suit clung to the mostly still body. Dried blood stuck the fabric to the pale skin. The Zabrak produced a small knife and simply cut it open.

When her gaze found his again his eyes burnt with an intensity she had never experienced in any living being before. His whole being, tense as it was, seemed alight. Averting her eyes she concentrated on her patient again. The pulse was weak and too fast, but so far the beat came steadily. It was as if she couldn’t only hear it through her stethoscope, but almost feel it. Quickly she nodded, just small movements. This was something she could deal with.

Then the rattle. Without the constriction of the cuirass it seemed to have become worse. Her fingers ghosted over the pale skin, trailing the way her husband’s slug must have taken. It was as if she could feel the course it had taken. The closer she came to the woman’s heart the less the disruptive feeling was. Trailing her fingers back to the entry wound, she felt the disturbance increase again. This was strange, with Din she had never actually felt where his wounds ran inside his body. But she had to concentrate on more pressing matters.

Whatever her little bean had done, it had momentarily saved the woman’s life. Yet, she was clinging onto it by a silvery thread. Harshly she swallowed, she didn’t have the means to heal her, not here outside, not on the Crest. Unbidden her vision blurred., Din was counting on her, she couldn’t disappoint him.

The warmth that settled on the back of her hand which was still placed on the prone woman’s side had her blink. Her gaze trailed from the red skin that was covered in black tattoos to the yellow burning eyes.

Seeing herself in the blazing orbits unsettled her. They were fierce fire – _you can do it_ – unwavering in their stare. They set her ablaze – _I will assist_ – unrelenting in their demand.

Her pale eyes trailed up the slope. Din was still sitting in the sand, just as she had left him. But he was no longer alone. The huge man she had got to know as Paz stood next to him. The other, more colourful Mandalorian was, giving her husband a wide berth, slowly and staggeringly making his way towards her and the Zabrak.

“Help me. I-I can’t do it. I’m … I’m not … not like you … I’m not … l-light.”

The trembling bass pulled her back to the yellow orbs and her gaze fell to the source of heat on the back of her hands. – _Help me_. – A tiny blue flickering danced between the strong digits of the Zabrak’s hand. – _Heal her_. – A tremble ran through her. And she feared that he could sense it, feel it somehow. But she had never healed. No, not correct she had, but never on command.

The warmth on her hand increased turning to a heat that bordered the beginning of a burning sensation. A heat that spread throughout her whole body, a heat that threatened to consume her.

Love – the Zabrak and the dying woman were connected. Only two types of love burnt that brightly.

Hate – a simmering and lingering rage that was barely kept under control. Only one type of hate burnt so consumingly.

Concern – a roaring fear that battled with the tiny flicker of hope.

Power – strange and unfamiliar in its intensity, nothing like the Jedi who had let her feel her powers, yet similar.

Her body reacted with a jolt and startled she cried out when she felt the Force run freely through her. Vaguely she heard Din call for her, concern in his voice. The growl – _Vayra_ – next to her was louder.

She blinked up to the man, who kneeling, still towered her. His eyes were closed, his brows furrowed – a face of concentration.

She gazed down to the woman’s body under her hand. Her eyes were closed and her brows pulled together. Then the body arched under her hand, green eyes opened wide and her lips opened to a silent scream. Instead a deep but forced inhale ruptured through the woman.

“Vayra!” The warrior in green-blue sank with a sob to his knees next to the woman’s other side.

Then the body of the woman relaxed from its spasm, settled pantingly in the sand. And these green eyes stared up, switched from her, to the Zabrak, to the other warrior, back to her.

The voice was a hoarse whisper: “Who … who are … you … I-I … I was …”

The furnace of a hand severed the contact with hers. And when she slowly pulled her hand back there was only the discolouring of the spilt blood left on the pale skin, no other sign of where the slug had entered her body.

Her hand again trailed the path to the woman’s heart, no trace of the disturbance where the slug had carved its way through her body. Her stethoscope confirmed what her eyes saw. She gazed at the three people around her.

The woman was breathing, a bit too agitatedly, but steadily. The warrior had clutched the woman’s hand and was holding it against his T-visor, mumbling in Din’s other language, Mando’a. The Zabrak was still kneeling beside her, both hands on his knees and with his eyes closed and his head lowered he looked as if he were meditating. But his accelerated breathing told her that he wasn’t.

“What … what you did.” Slowly the horned head lifted and the yellow eyes focused on her. They were still fierce, but burning with a lesser quality.

“You … you used the Force. You are … are you a Jedi?”

“No.” The Zabrak huffed humourlessly and tiredly shook his head: “Among the two of us, you are way more a Jedi than I am. Your heritage should tell you what I am.”

“What are you then?”

Like a winter’s draft that found its way even through the smallest cracks, she felt a cold spread withing her as the Zabrak retreated completely. Like hitting into a unforgiving wall on a foggy night, she was left stunned.

“A Mandalorian.” It was only a growled whisper.

“No, you are more. I’ve felt it! You are a …”

She flinched back as the Zabrak sprang up with a shout. “No! Say no more!”

She had to tilt her head back to be able to look the Zabrak in the eye. His face was contorted and the hot feeling washed over her again. He was dealing with … regret, with … pain.

Her pale eyes flickered to Din again. Paz was steadying him as he was trying to get up. Suddenly she felt her stubborn streak awaken: “I have felt the Force through you.” And when the Zabrak opened his mouth she quickly continued: “And this time I need your help.”

The Zabrak’s mouth fell and she used the time he involuntarily gave her: “You asked me to assist to help her. Now I ask to assist me to help him.” And with a nod she gestured towards Din.

“He …”

“What he’s done can’t be undone. But our son already helped to bring her back and I … we saved her together. Give me your powers again. I can’t do it alone … please.”

At her last word a shift went through the Zabrak’s face. A wave that broke, a wall that crumbled. She felt his internal fight as he closed his eyes. This brows worked and his mouth twitched. And then he went completely still.

“Fine.” She barely caught the whispered word.

“ _Vod, cabuor ner ad_.” He words were not direct at her.

It was not much Mando’a that she understood, but she caught the last of the words addressed at the other warrior and she was certain that the Zabrak would really help her to heal her husband; just as she had helped to heal his child.

She didn’t linger, but snatched his hand and made him help her to come to a stand, then she tugged him behind her, meeting Paz and her Din on their descending way.

“You shouldn’t have moved. Sit down again.”

Paz helped Din to sit down again. This time she didn’t bother with the stethoscope, nor with the armour. Tenderly she placed her hand over his broken ribs and the torn tissue below, then she expectantly looked up at the Zabrak.

“I’ll give you space to do your sorcery stuff.” Paz grumbled and gathering her son from her husband’s hands he respectfully stepped back.

“It will be better soon, my love. We will help you.”

She felt Din tense up and saw the way he flinched away from the Zabrak.

“It is okay. He wants to help you.”

“It is my debt.” The emotions in the Zabrak’s voice ran high, but it was hard for her to place them correctly. Meanwhile Din’s visor didn’t leave the Zabrak’s face.

-*-*-*-

He watched her run down the slope towards the Mandalorian woman he had shot. When he gazed at his fob it was still quiet. He prayed that it would stay silent. Then he watched with wrapped attention Halarys work on the woman.

A shadow stepped past him and before his fogged brain could register the Zabrak, the man in the black armour had passed him and made his way towards his wife. A pang of fear and protectiveness made him struggle to get to his feet again, until a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

“Stay, _vod_.” He recognized the droning bass. And behind his helmet he blinked up at Paz. He maked a pained sound as he fell back into his position

“He won’t harm her. He just wants to be at his child’s side.”

Slowly his brain put one and one together, linking his target, his _vode_ and the Zabrak.

With the Zabrak’s broad back he couldn’t see what Halarys was doing, but it was nevertheless enchanting and relaxing in a way. He felt himself calm down. Only when the prone woman reared up his eyes quickly searched for the fob in his hand again. It was dark and quiet.

“Help … help me up.”

Paz disapproved, but helped him nonetheless. Each step was a struggle and his breaths were pained wheezes.

“Are you sure you should be doing this, _vod_?” Paz sounded concerned, but he felt compelled to be with Halarys. He felt the need to know whether his target was alive and would survive.

He knew he was safe in the strong hold Paz had on him and despite still putting one foot in front of the other he closed his eyes.

Then it was her voice that he opened his eyes to. Halarys was there, standing in front of him, scolding him for having moved. But he didn’t care, she was there with him again. Her voice was soothing him and he was ready to let go of the tension holding on to him when she made him sit back down. Her hand on his hurting side felt like she already did wonders just by tenderly touching him.

Then the large shadow of the man who had almost broken his neck fell on him and gone was any tranquillity, he tensed as the large Zabrak settled on his haunches next to him.

Close up and with no need to fight for his life he could study the other man’s face. He was thankful that he hadn’t had the time to do so while they were fighting. Even in his relaxed demeanour the Zabrak’s face held a fierceness he didn’t want to address.

Halarys hushed him, wanted him to relax. But how could he with the horned face with its furrowed brows so close next to him. She hadn’t seen him struggle against the fury-become-man, she hadn’t witnessed how only Paz had saved him. And he was grateful for it.

But having this powerful man kneeling next to him, made him re-live these moments and all of a sudden he found it even more troublesome and painful to suck in shallow breaths. He was wheezing and coughing. Copper taste in his mouth when the hands of the Zabrak pressed him slowly but insistently down to a lying position.

“I will not hurt you.” The man’s bass was even lower than Paz’s and he wheezed a snort at the impossibility of this perception at this point of time – was there nothing more important than to compare people’s voices?.

“Please, Din, let us help you.” There was her soothing voice again. He only had to concentrate on her. It was her that he trusted. If she had chosen to bring the Zabrak along he trusted her in her decision.

He sighed softly as the coldness of her hand seeped through the material of his suit. She knew exactly where she had to put her hand. He glanced down, it looked so small and soft on his side. Warily he watched as the Zabrak placed his much larger hand over hers. The colour of their skins in stark contrast. He blinked: it must have to do with a pain-infused mind, the bluish crackling tendrils must be an imagination of his confused mind.

Then a warmth flooded his body, it built up to a heat that made him break out in sweat. Looking at his wife Halarys reassured him. She made him feel that this was how it was meant to go. He trusted her, she knew what she was doing. How often had she healed him so far? Too many times to count.

The pain he felt was engulfed by the heat, it was as if it burnt the pain away. And with each breath he drew he found himself able to suck in more air, his lungs felt less constricted and the stabbing pain in his side vanished.

When he dared to glance at the Zabrak again, he found the tattooed face in a more relaxed state, his yellow eyes were easier to look at. Their blazing fire had turned into a comfortable dullness. He could only compare it to a fire that had been extinguished leaving only glowing embers. Until the man blinked and, there was the fire back in his eyes.

He immediately felt the loss of the heat when the tall man pulled his hand back. As he placed it on his knee he had time to examine it. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary all he could see was resting hands, splayed fingers, their nails short and strong, slightly curling over the knee-caps, the broad palm resting on the lower muscle of his thigh and on the lower end of the black cuisse.

The cuisses were what he studied next. They were matching, contrary to his. The layer of black colour shone in the sun’s light, all along the rim the sun caught in the fine ornaments that glinted silvery. He noted that these silvery swirls and knots had been inwrought everywhere along the black armour’s edges. The silvery metal of the armour was familiar, he knew it as the metal of his own armour: Beskar! A Mandalorian armour!

He must have shifted. Halarys must have sensed his discomfort, because she squeezed his side softly, testing his reaction. He gave her an assuring smile, not that she could see it, but his hand found hers and he curled his fingers round her palm – having her at his side had him grounded.

A movement angular at his rear made him turn his helmet towards it. Seeing Paz standing with a relaxed stance, hand on his hip, had a also a calming effect. And then there was is small son, still passed out and snoring lightly, safely held by Paz. He tilted his helmet in acknowledgement and received a nod in return.

Then he turned his attention back up to the Zabrak: “Who are you?”

He did see the quick glance the horned man gave his _vod_ before he heard the low rumble: “ _Burc'ya_. _Aliit_.”

It was a joke, right? Just moments ago this man had tried to squeeze the life out of him! His eyebrows rose and he huffed. But he didn’t get to answer, as the Zabrak rose and walked down the slope.

Right, they were not alone – Tharam Tern. He remembered having seen his _vod_. And then he remembered the flash of green-blue that so skillfully broke his ribs and drove them into his innards. His eyes followed the Zabrak just to find Tern kneeling next to the person who had been his target.

“They were the ones who helped us after the mess you left us in on Nevarro. She and her _buir_.” Paz normally booming voice was reduced to a low murmur.

“She’s … Is she the one … You said he …” He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. A different sort of pain gnawed at his insides.

“Yes, she is the one he fell for.”

Halarys gasped loudly and he had to swallow hard as she covered her mouth with her hand.

“Din!”

She didn’t have to say anymore, he could read it in her wide, pale eyes. The terror of the atrocity he had committed. He had slain his _vod’s riduur_ and hadn’t it been for his gifted youngling, he probably wouldn’t have survived the combined wrath of his _vod_ and of her _buir_. He had expressed his suspicion when he had asked Halarys to help. But as it seemed, for both of them the harshness of the reality struck only now as everything had calmed down.

His eyes wandered back down the slope. He was slightly astonished to see the Zabrak facing towards them, only when he realised that he saw the shock of messy brown hair he realized why. The man with the horns was giving the couple some privacy.

Also Halarys must have recognised the importance of the situation, he felt her fingers first curl round his and then squeeze them tightly.

-*-*-*-

“ _Nu ba’slana, ner meshurok. Nu ba’slana_.” The words became a mantra which he constantly mumbled while he pressed the back of her hand against his T-visor.

He couldn’t remember when he had got rid of his gloves, but without them his fingers had found her pulse at her wrist.

Only dimly he noted that Dargak and the woman with the strange paleness were leaving, but he couldn’t be bothered to stop his mantra. It felt like it was the only thing that kept her from abandoning him. Also Dargak’s voice came through a heavy veil to him. Dargak didn’t have to ask. He wouldn’t leave, never ever. From this time on he would be at her side and guard her with his life.

“Tern.”

Her weak whisper screamed loudly in his ears and pulled him out of his self-inflicted meditational stance. Quickly he opened his burning eyes, blearily searching for hers. He found them gazing up at him, shining with unshed tears, glistening in the bright daylight.

“Tern.”

Her murmur held a pleading which had him breathless. Her arm twisted in his loosening grip and then she palmed the dented cheek-part, softly pressing against it. Moving his hand to cover hers, he wiped over her thumb, bringing it under the lid of his helmet.

A feeble smile played on her stained lips as he heard his name for a third time, soft as a sight: “Tern.”

“Thar ...” He croaked and the vocoder distorted his try. He coughed and cleared his throat. It was not enough. Swiftly he also reached up with his other hand, and with one still covering hers he lifted his helmet off and tried a smile: “Tharam. My name is Tharam.”

It was not as he had imagined it to be, it was not as he had wanted it to be. In his daydreams neither of them was at the brink of dying, in his musings there were no others anywhere close. In his planning the whole setting would have been much more … he looked for a word … romantic. But it felt right. He couldn’t help it, it just felt right.

For as long as he had wanted to share his name with her, for as long as he had wished she could really see him. This was as perfect as the moment could get – she with a blood smeared face and him with blood-shot watery eyes. It was not pretty, but it was perfect.

He huffed at the thoughts and scrunched up his nose and noisily drew an inhale: “I’ve got a snotty nose.”

“I know.” Her exhale was light and her lip tugged up in a lop-sided manner.

He saw her eyes darting over his face and had to remind himself that it was only the second time she could take a look at him. He corrected himself. The first time, he didn’t want to let their first time count, he didn’t want to remember her breaking eyes as she perceived his features. This was their first time.

And all of a sudden he became nervous. He was nothing to look at: face sweaty, nose red and snotty, eyes puffed and reddened from crying, and his hair a pure mess of widely tangling locks.

And all of a sudden he realized her last words: “Wait! You know?”

Her grin turned mischievous for a second and then sombre: “When … when you collapsed on the ship after … after Daryc bit you. Dargak, he called for you … he let it slip ... but I had other cares. And at the crater … you gave me … and ...”

He had to interrupt her. He would have thought that his sister had told her in one of their conversations. But it made sense that Dargak had used it, he had always only used his name to get his attention, in a case of emergency: “You never used it? You only …”

“It was enough for me. It was what you gave me willingly and …”

Her lips split in a small, almost shy smile and her eyes dipped down to his mouth for a second.

“… and I wanted _you_ to tell me.”

He didn’t know why this small confession had him pant in quick and stuttering succession, he didn’t understand why his eyes used exactly this moment to spill over once more. But what he got was the warm sensation that spread through his innards, that swelled his chest until it felt like it wanted to burst.

He reached down to cradle her face in his palms and slowly lowered his head until their foreheads met. At the contact he inhaled deeply before he let go of his breath. He felt her arms when they slung round his neck and her fingers entangled in the locks at the nape of his neck. A small nudge of head made him smile before he puckered his lips to give her a chaste peck.

The first peck was followed by a second and a third until their lips didn’t want to separate anymore. Soft and exploring brushes until he couldn’t hold back anymore. With his hand at the back of her head he pressed her against his lips, crushed into their soft warmth until his lungs screamed for relief.

Only then let go and slightly lifted his head to gaze at her. But he hadn’t counted on Vayra. Her hands pulled him down again and her lips devoured him in an open-mouthed clash. In their deep kiss he could forget anything around them. He only concentrated on his her lips felt against his, how her tongue played with his, how her body melted into his and soft trembles …

Wetness grazed his palm that still cradled her head and he broke from her.

“No, no-no-no, don’t cry. Vayra. Please, don’t cry.”

Her eyes were pressed together and more tears rushed down her temples. He started to stumble over his own words. – _Now_.

“I have you and you have me. Please, don’t … please. Vayra …”

Another tremble quivered through her at her hiccups. – _Now_!

“Vayra!”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down again. He managed only a whisper. – _NOW_!

“Vay’ika, _ner meshurok_!”

He waited until he was sure that she was really looking at him. Unblinking he stared into her eyes and with a tight smile he nodded quickly before he breathlessly asked: “Now?”

His face worked through all the motions her nod put him through – relief – love – hope – love – desperation – love – joy – and he saw them all reflected in her eyes. And then she gave a tiny yelp as she inhaled and then she nodded.

He had to inhale deeply. To catch his breath, to stall for a moment and to gather his courage and all that was left of his voice was a low whisper.

They both only whispered, one line after the other. He lead and she followed, he called and she echoed.

“ _Mhi solus tome_. “ - - - “ _Mhi solus tome_. “

He moved in and kissed her lips and whispered against them.

“ _Mhi solus dar’tome_.” - - - “ _Mhi solus dar’tome_. “

Again he kissed her before he continued with his low voice.

“ _Mhi me’diuni an_.” - - - “ _Mhi me’diuni an_. “

He moved to looked at her – a small nod – and he pressed his forehead again against hers and his gaze didn’t leave hers when he completed the vows.

“ _Mhi ba’juri verde_.” - - - “ _Mhi ba’juri verde_. “

Again he lost himself in their kiss, blind and deaf to the world around him, careless and not caring about it. It was their moment and nothing and nobody could steal it from them. He felt safe, his subconscious told he that they were guarded and watched over. His _vode_ Paz and Dargak were there to keep watch.

As from afar Dargak’s bass drifted towards him. Not releasing Vayra’s lips he blinked towards the Zabrak, reminding himself that the man had become his _buir_ now, too.

“Do you think we could bring her back to the shuttle? Back to the ship and its med-bay, for a check-up?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum: I love you eternally/forever  
> Mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an: We are one when we are apart, we will share everything. Tharam changes the Mandalorian marriage contract according to the situation .  
> Ner meshurok, ner kar’ ta: my precious (one) lit. my gemstone, my heart  
> Gev: Stop it! Pack it in!  
> Mhi solus … tome: We are one when we are together. Vayra starts the vows of the Mandalorian marriage contract  
> Ner mesh’la riduur: My beautiful husband / partner / spouse  
> aliit: family, clan  
> aruetii: stranger, outsider; traitor  
> riduur: spouse, wife, husband  
> vod: brother; comrade, mate  
> Vod, cabuor ner ad: Brother, protect my child.  
> Vode: brothers, comrades, mates  
> Burc'ya: friend  
> buir: parent; father, mother  
> Nu ba’slana, ner meschurok. Nu ba’slana: Don’t leave, my precious one. Don’t leave.  
> Mandalorian Marriage vows:  
> Mhi solus tome.: We are one together.  
> Mhi solus dar'tome.: We are one when parted.  
> Mhi me'dinui an.: We share all.  
> Mhi ba'juri verde.: We will raise warriors.


	50. Orange is a lust for life

He left the man in the silver armour and his wife. There was an urgency that he felt to bring more distance between himself and the woman. Her Dathomirian descent brought unbidden memories. He had detached himself so wilfully from both Iridonia and Korriban, he had stubbornly refused to address any lingering of a heritage since he had sworn the creed. Stumbling over a daughter or granddaughter of a Nightsister woke all those buried memories he still had of – home and of the place that had taken everything from him. Keeping his eyes steadily on where his feet tread he willed himself to accept the fact, it had been his initial home, a home for some time. But nothing that he would keep calling his home.

Walking down the slope he allowed himself to wonder about what would have become of him if he hadn’t been taken to Korriban. He would have been brought to Dathomir, like it was traditional in his family. He would have fought for the attention and affection of a Nightsister like the males of his line had done before him. He would have – it was meaningless, it hadn’t been his path. There was one sole meaning to his life and this lay battered at the foot of the dune.

As hard as it was, it was better to concentrate on what was before him. And at that moment that was his daughter, still lying in the sand which she had stained with her blood. Like in his nightmares – his nightmares had come to life. He shook his head – no they hadn’t! She was not alone, not like in the nightmares he had woken up to trenched in sweat. She was not alone, she was held and cradled in the arms of the man that loved her.

Brown strands mingled in her copper locks and he needed a second to apprehend the meaning. The dark brown hair belonged to a man, her man – a Mandalorian whose devotion bordered bigotry – had revealed his face to her. A smile of adoration ghosted over his lips before he abruptly turned, positioning himself halfway between the two groups of people. His broad frame would give them some privacy. His distance would give them time to themselves, while he still remained in earshot, they could call out to him if he were needed.

He tried to keep a stern face, but he failed. At least an expressionless face, he pleaded with himself, no chance. His teeth dug into his lower lip just to keep himself from grinning stupidly. But whatever he tried, his heart spilt over and it showed in his face.

Quietly he huffed as he remembered Tharam telling him that he wanted a proper courtship, as the younger man had sought him one late night and questioned him for several hours. This was not what Tharam had told him how he had planned to court and say the vows.

He could hear their solemn whispers and he held his breath. Too urgent was the feeling that burst forth in him. It had him breathe shakily and open-mouthed – his daughter was a married woman now. Then it got quiet in his back again and he gave them more time.

All the while he had been watching the group he was facing. The Nightsister and the warrior in the unpainted Beskar armour were holding on to each other while Paz was holding the small bundle. The bundle that had attracted his attention while standing watch. If he hadn’t been so distracted it would have been even his prime interest. But the bundle rested motionless in the arm of the heavy infantry.

Then the warrior was helped up and Paz gave him a slow nod. It was time. No matter what had occurred here among the dunes, they needed to get back to their cave, to Vayra’s ship to be exact. He turned his head slightly. From the corner of his eye he could make them barely out, but it would make his voice carry over the wind to address his daughter – his _ade_ : “Do you think we could bring her back to the shuttle? Back to the ship and its med-bay, for a check-up?”

He gave them a moment to collect themselves, especially giving Tharam time to don his helmet again. When summoned, he helped Tharam to heave Vayra up. They both each slung one of Vayra’s arms over their shoulders and slowly made their way up the slope.

All the while his gaze never left Paz and the bundle he held. Despite being concentrating on that one point he didn’t miss how Tharam’s helmet lowered, how he looked at his feet, when they passed the pale woman and the bounty hunter.

When they were on the same level he stopped. He needed to know, well to know for sure who these people were and what Paz intended to do.

“ _Gar beroya_? _Ruusaanyc_?”

Paz just tilted his head down, hummed and nodded. He got a notion that the heavy infantry felt guilty for what one of his tribe had done?

“What is your decision? How are we going to proceed?”

Paz shrugged in an uncertain way, then his T-visor moved to his _vod_ in the silver armour and his partner. He could pick up on the his anger, but also on some longing. He understood how difficult the situation was for Paz, he could make it easier for him.

“We are bringing Vayra to the ship’s med-bay. He’s your _vod_. He should get also the chance to get a proper check-up.”

Paz shoulders heaved in a massive exhale. The sound that Tharam made under his helmet could only be described as displeasure and anger.

But he was not distracted by the younger man’s ire: “I’ll take the shuttle with them. You accompany them in their ship.”

When Paz agreed, he gave Tharam a sign to continue their way with Vayra between them. Carefully they sat her in the co-pilot’s seat and when he had taken wings, he contacted Tulata. After a short time her voice reached through the com-link and for a moment he was at a loss of words. How should he explain the check-up?

But before he could put his thoughts into a coherent message her voice cut him off: “Who and how serious?”

His eyebrows rose in surprise: “How did you know?”

“Because you wouldn’t contact me to tell me that you are enjoying yourselves at the beach. So, who and how serious?”

“Vayra. … And … But it’s … complicated. She is stable, I just want you to run a thorough check-up. … And … there is another one to do the check on.”

“Another one? Who?”

“A … Your bounty hunter showed up.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. He was thankful for the distance, he feared that otherwise her emotions would have been too overwhelming for him. Ever since he had connected with the Dathomirian healer he had difficulties to shut out those around him. Hearing the hitch in her voice was already enough for him.

She needed a few tries, stumbling over beginnings of sentences until she finally croaked out: “He is really …?”

“Paz confirmed it. Anyway … We will be there in a short time. Can you have everything ready?”

“Makers! Yes, of course!”

He glanced over to Tharam who hovered behind the co-pilot’s chair with Vayra in it. Looking into her pale face was painful for him. Again, he had come so close to losing her. No – he had to remind himself – he had lost her and if it hadn’t been for that small thing in the brown bundle … he didn’t want to dwell on it for fear that he couldn’t control the blurring of his eyes any longer.

He averted his gaze, but it seemed that Tharam had caught him.

“She is still there with us.”

Carefully he glanced over again and let his eyes roam from the man’s helmet, to his set shoulder down his arm to where it was placed on his daughter’s shoulder. On a closer look he saw that Tharam’s fingers were placed on a certain spot on her neck. Tharam didn’t move his fingers, he was constantly checking on her pulse. With a tight smile he gave him a grateful nod.

For the rest of the rather short trip he settled on concentrating on steering the shuttle. On nearing their destination, he saw that the hull of the Keldab was already open. Tulata was standing at the end of the ramp, a medical hover cod next to her.

Relieved he let go of a deep exhale. Whatever had transpired back at the dunes, he wanted Tulata’s professional opinion. Besides the obvious – Vayra was still breathing and at least halfway lucid – she needed more treatment, professional medical treatment. The picture of her in the immense pool of her own blood had him still fear the worst.

He landed the shuttle as close to the ship as possible and together with Tharam he helped Vayra out of the seat. Tulata had the cot already moved into the hull of the shuttle and he let go of another sigh when they had made her lie down on it.

The roaring machines of the other ship told him that Paz was arriving, too. And he watched as it landed while Tulata and Tharam led the hover-cot out of the shuttle. When the ramp lowered, he saw Paz behind the pale-eyed woman, who was standing next to the warrior with the silver Beskar – Din, he recalled the woman call the man.

-*-*-*-

His gloves were tucked into his utility belt, he needed to feel Vayra, he needed to feel that she was alive, still or again. The possibility that they would land under the scrutinising eyes of Dargak was nothing he cared about as long as he could feel the beating of her pulse, this fast drumming of her blood running through her veins which he had feverishly sought for until his shaking fingers had found it on her neck.

With his other hand he caressed her cheek. Her father couldn’t see it. It was not that he cared, still he felt more at ease with being unobserved. He felt more at ease with the fast thrumming against his fingers. She was still with him. His wife was still alive. He wished he could feel more of her, of her skin, more of her against him, unhindered by his helmet.

Within its confines it was easy to watch her father. Even when Dargak hadn’t worn his helmet it had been hard to encrypt and read him. As he studied the Zabrak now, he was again faced with a mask. Then he saw the small tick, his jaw muscles were clenching. He looked for more hints. A twitch of his mouth, a furrow of his brows, a shine in his eyes.

The more he watched the Zabrak, the easier it was to read him, to see the subtle signs which told of the tension and uproar that was going on in Dargak. Compared to what he was seeing in Dargak now, the Zabrak had been a picture of peacefulness on Myrkr.

He was jolted out of his reverie when the shuttle landed. His sister was already waiting, now he needed to move swiftly, efficiently without jostling his wife too much.

He moved and helped Vayra out of the seat. He could feel the trembles that rushed through her body as he more carried than led her the few steps into the shuttle’s hull. Trusting more in his sister’s abilities and the ship’s equipment than in whatever that pale-eyed woman and the Zabrak had done on the dune, he was glad that she helped him to place Vayra on the hover-cot and followed her towards the ship.

The sound of the pre-imperial ship drew his gaze from Vayra. He knew the old ship like the back of his hand, he had travelled with and lived on it long enough. His eyes immediately rose to the cockpit, to the pilot glad in unpainted Beskar.

His brain didn’t register what his muscles were doing – his cuirass heaved with his inhale, his pauldrons curled forwards and his helmet lowered.

“Tharam!”

He turned sharply to the quiet voice and his gaze fell to the cot again. He forced himself to not give the man in the cockpit another glance but turned and followed his sister.

When they had reached the med-bay he followed her curt instructions of how and where to place the cot, of how and where to position several monitors and the infusion stand. Then her instructions to prepare her for additional medical treatment had him occupied as he helped to lift Vayra onto the med cot and pull off the remaining armour. Tulata’s precise orders helped him to push his body into motion and eased his minds of re-living the moments of horror again and again. But then she pulled him out of the condition of simply functioning.

“What’s her blood type?”

“Her … what?

“She needs more liquids than I can get into her with only the infusion … even if I depleted her stock completely. … So, do you know her blood type … for a transfusion.”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“Then get Dargak, he should know! Otherwise, I run a test.”

He was glad to be able to turn just as his sister worked the needle into Vayra’s skin. It was funny how he could handle a slug shot and watch a vibroknife split skin open, but the comparably tiny needle made the hair at the back of his neck stand up. He walked out of the med-bay and stopped short. An exhale deflated noisily his chest. It was not Dargak or the pale-eyed woman he saw first. His teeth clicked shut as his eyes zoomed in on Djarin. The others followed him closely.

Straightening he pressed the words between clenched teeth: “Dargak. Tulata’s got a question.”

Without another glance he turned on his heel and strode back into the med-bay. His sister looked quickly up at him. Giving her a short nod was the only thing he was capable of as he stepped aside to clear the entrance.

Dargak and the woman with the white-ish hair were the first to enter after him, and the Zabrak immediately strode over to his sister, talking to her, followed closely by the woman. He listened, there were many things he didn’t get, terms of medicine, letters and numbers as abbreviations for things he had no knowledge of.

“… 0 positive.”

How could he not know something so essential about his wife? He felt helpless and at a loss, reduced to the position of a mere bystander. On the shuttle he had been able to be close to Vayra, but here, in the med-bay of the ship, he felt in the way if he were to get closer, if he were to take his position next to his _riduur_ again.

“Tharam’s …” He only heard his name and steered towards the three people conversing and the cot. Being closer to his _riduur_ strengthened his resolve to not get pushed aside again.

“I can …”

Tulata’s helmet turned towards him with a shake: “No, I fear not. You are not compatible.”

“What do you mean not compatible? She is my wife!” The words whirled in his head. This was not possible!

“Your wi …?!” He practically saw his sister staring at him. But whatever she had wanted to say was lost in what the other woman had to say.

“Din can …”

The whirlwind in his brain intensified at the words of the pale-eyed woman and it sped his turn towards her as he spat at her with a snarl.

“No!”

The white noise that blocked his system howled with blood-red fury. His arm shot out, pointing accusingly at the other hunter, at Din Djarin, a name he didn’t want to hear coming over his lips anymore.

“He’s responsible for what happened to her! He’s the reason why she is here, in this situation! Do you really think I will let this _hut’uun_ get anywhere close to my _riduur_!?”

Everything in him tensed and pulled up, he lowered his helmet and swirled around to face the man he held responsible, his hand hovered over his blaster, emphasizing his words: “If he just moves as much as a single finger I’ll …!”

Everyone went still and frozen in their places. The air in the room seemed to prickle with electricity.

“Thar …!”

He didn’t care about the appalled tone which his sister used, his shoulders curled forward only more.

“If he dares …”

“Tern!” Even Paz who had entered the med-bay last and lent against the wall next to the door until now started to react by pushing himself off and moving forward. A few steps would bring the broad man between himself and the man he had assigned as his target.

“Dare you … give me a reason!”

His snarl and the machine’s noises seemed to be the only sounds in the otherwise more than silent room. If his word could be venom, he would spit them with twice as much hate. But a heavy hand slowly pressed down on his shoulder, fingers softly applied pressure to make sure they are felt despite the pauldron.

“ _Ad_ …” The low bass rolled onto him in a slow wave.

“I-I won’t allow …”

“ _Ad_ …” The dark bass resonated in his mind, making the fog lift enough to make his brows furrow and rise beneath the safety of his helmet.

Nobody – no one – not a single person had called him that since the fateful day when he had said his goodbyes to Tror. A cold shiver ran through him and all air seemed to leave him, turning him into a panting mess.

“He … It can’t be him. … I …”

“ _Ad’ika_ …” He exhaled with another shiver. “She needs help. And if he is the one to provide it, would you really oppose?”

He closed his eyes and tried to get his breathing under control, to get the shaking out of system, to ground himself somehow. The grip on his shoulder got firmer, just this side of unpleasant.

“ _Ad’ika_ …”

“ _Bu_ …” His throat clenched up. His head tilted up and back. His jaw worked and three inhales squeezed noisily into his lungs before he could work himself to form the word.

“ _B-bu--buir_.” His exhale rasped through his vocoder. As if this single word had deprived him of every strength, the lower end of his helmet hit against his cuirass and his whole body sagged. His eyes burnt with how savagely he pressed them shut.

The careful pull on his shoulder helped him, guided his route of stepping-back. Out of the way where he had placed himself between Djarin and Vayra, and back to the cot’s head. A cautious tug at his arm helped him to uncoil his muscles, stretch his arm and then a hand was placed in his.

He opened his eyes to see what had changed and then up to the man standing in front of him. Dargak had moved him from confronting Djarin to facing Vayra. Dargak had placed his wife’s hand into his to hold onto. It was Dargak again who slowly pushed him down onto the stool which had been placed next to the cot.

Slowly he looked up again to gaze at the two women – his sister and the pale-eyed woman – the two people in the room who were able to help Vayra. He knew that both held the same expression, although he could only see the face of one of them. There was concern and sympathy and determination.

And although Dargak walked around him, his hand found its place on his shoulder again, grounding him, just as Vayra’s hand in his gave him something to hold on to.

When he heard Djarin move behind him he lowered his helmet again, even closed his eyes. The man who had been his _vod_ – he couldn’t bear to look at him. There was shuffling, the soft screech of a cot being moved, quiet thuds as pieces of armour were removed, whispers of instructions and then a second set of constant beeping, to the quickly beeping sound a slower one was added.

His eyes dashed up to see Din Djarin placed on another cot on the other side of Vayra. Quickly he ducked his head down again. The women were bustling around the hunter, giving him an examination of which he only caught scraps of information. Both women had scanners working and updated each other about blood pressure, pulse, and temperature. He found himself listening more intently when the pale-eyed woman referred to the medication and treatment Djarin had received from her hands.

“Here see, I kept track. This is all that has happened …”

The crackle from his sister’s vocoder sounded strangled and an embarrassed grunt came from the other cot.

“… but the data confirms he is healthy enough to donate. I’ll prepare the crossmatch testing.” His heart picked up at the steady voice of his sister.

“I will prepare the access to his radial artery. Din, relax. Your hand, please.”

His jaw worked, making his teeth grate. The slow set of beeping sounds picked up in speed. Again, he lifted his eyes. A grim grin settled on his lips. Remembering how much Din hated needles brought a small satisfaction.

“I have access to her brachial vein. We can start the transfusion.”

“Calm down, love.” The strange healer’s voice was low over the fast beeping.

He watched as Tulata secured the IV access. His eyes lingered on the transparent tube as it filled with the red liquid coming from the hunter’s hand, and on the small bowl into which a few drops ended with a hollow sound. The other healer clamped the line and he watched as it got hooked up to the access in Vayra’s arm. His eyes followed the tube that connected his wife’s elbow back to the hand of the man who had hunted her. Avoiding the other man’s T-visor he let his eyes wander to the monitors.

Watching the flickering light and listening to the machines’ sounds was all that occupied him for the time being. Again and again his eyes wandered over his wife’s face, still so ghostly pale and still. And again, his fingers moved around her wrist where he could feel the quick pounding. As time ticked by, he closed his eyes and concentrated only on that, the pulsation, and its accompanying sound.

He must have dozed off, insistent voices reached his ears. The thrum under his fingers was slower, as well as the sound coming from one of the machines. He didn’t know, but there was still another sound which seemed to become faster … and it didn’t match with what he felt under his fingers.

“… her vital parameters have improved. I think we can detach them soon.”

Tulata’s words spiked his spirits, closely he examined Vayra. To him it seemed that she was no longer that pale. His observation was calming and he allowed his eyes to close again, to concentrate only on what he could feel beneath his fingers, the steady pulsation which told him that his wife was alive.

“Din? How are you feeling?”

“I … like having been run over by a Mudhorn.”

“Are his vitals within the limits?”

“So far, yes but I wouldn’t wai …” The sudden blearing of a machine shook him from his trance-like position.

Dumfounded he watched as the hunter’s head slumped back, lolling to the side and his hand fell bonelessly from the edge of the cot. The machine, which Djarin was connected to, increased the pace of beeping and started to give a shrill warning signal.

“His blood pressure is falling. 100 to 70 and falling.”

“How many beats per minute?”

“130 and rising.”

The healers’ urgency made him inspect the scenery closer: “What happened?”

“He passed out, now let us work.”

His sister’s answer was tart and he watched silently as they worked, detaching both their patients, and extracting the needles, patching the punctures up. Slowly the machine which Djarin was attached to settled to a slower pace. The hurried working of the healers slowed down a bit until both took a deep breath.

After everything was done, Tulata walked over to him. Slowly he stood up and waited for his reprimand for his earlier behaviour. He wouldn’t excuse for it and he hoped that she wouldn’t ask for one when she got to know about his motivation. But his sister just looked down at Vayra and then back up to him.

“You said … your wife …?”

He let go of the breath he had unconsciously held and nodded: “ _Elek_. _Ner riduur_.”

“But when and how, I thought you were aiming for a courtship first and …”

“I will tell you everything … later.”

He glanced towards the other woman who had settled down on a stool next to the cot with the hunter on it. She reached for the hand of the still unconscious man and tenderly caressed it. Her soft words of encouragement and praise were loud enough to reach him, and another wave of anger swelled in him.

“I can’t … can we somehow have some privacy? Please.”

-*-*-*-

The pain in his side had given way to a warm feeling, a feeling that spread to his chest when Halarys sat next to him, a feeling that continued to spread when he looked up at Paz keeping his foundling safely in his arm.

But the feeling was drowned when he watched the small group of three making their slow way up the dune. The woman he had shot was hanging between the two men.

Instead of warmth he felt a cold creeping up his spine when he saw how his _kih’vod_ refused to look at him. He wanted to say something, had opened his mouth already, but nothing came out. And then the moment to speak up to Tharam had passed. They had gone on to the shuttle.

With Paz as his guide, he followed them. Even on his ship he wouldn’t have been able to find the right words if Halarys had asked him what was up with him. How could he explain? If he had followed her intuition he wouldn’t have been in the precarious situation. But she didn’t ask, and Paz was of no help either, he also kept silent.

While landing he had become grateful for this silence although it did nothing to sort his thoughts, but then he saw Tharam alongside the hovering cot. He his muscles knew what they had to do during the landing process, his eyes and his mind were on his brother-in-arms until he saw the signs. He knew these signs which the warrior in the green-blue armour sent with his tight shoulders and lowered helmet – a Gundark ready to charge.

He didn’t know whether Tharam could even see him in the cockpit or just fell into the aggressive stance on instinct. The woman in the dark red armour – he exhaled with relief, their healer, and more important Tharam’s sister was present – must have said something to Tharam as he turned quickly and strode towards the other ship. The next thing he remembered – Tulata and Paz, he had mentioned something like that when they had met several weeks back – had him quickly glance at Paz, who just gave him a short nod and an affirmative hum. He let go of a sigh when he pulled himself out of the pilot’s seat, dreading the moment when he would be confronted by Tharam again.

And it was much sooner than he had expected. They had barely entered the light freighter when Tharam rushed out of a compartment and stopped dead in his tracks. He uttered only one sentence and again pointedly ignored him.

Halarys wanted to follow the Zabrak – Dargak, he recalled his name. Of course, she had recognized the room for what it was, and grabbing his arm she pulled him along.

He kept his voice to a hissing whisper: “I feel perfectly fine. Just let me wait here outside.”

But she only let go of him after she had pulled him into the room. On entering the med-bay immediately stepped aside, he hung back as far as possible. It was his way to keep out of the way, to be able to observe and assess what was before him. His eyes fell onto the woman on the med-cot – his target. If it weren’t for the soft heaving of her chest, he would have thought her dead, too pale was her face, her lips had a blueish tint. For once he cursed his skills as a sharpshooter. Ones that were only rivalled by Tharam.

_“Concentrate, Tharam. Breathe in and breathe out. Don’t squint your eyes. Just follow the line of the barrel and further along. Let go of your last breath. No, don’t hold it just evenly breath out and at the lowest point, squeeze the trigger. No, don’t pull it. Just squeeze it softly. No jerking movements, they will ruin your aim.”_

_“What do you think I’m doing, Din? I’m doing exactly what you are saying. It’s that I’m just bad at it.”_

_“You are not! It’s only your third try. Once again. In the field you have only one chance. Inhale and exhale. Keep your eyes open. Soft squeezing.”_

_“I’m useless at this.”_

_“No, you are not. You are better than all the others, including me, after such a short time. Take into regard the wind and the sun. Try again.”_

_“At least I already hit the target’s edge.”_

_“Yes, you did well. Now again.” – “Again.” – “That’s much better.”_

_Daily training. Shooting daily and then, at barely thirteen, Tharam was already a better sharpshooter than he had been at his age. Now he only had to prove that he had the nerves too. The time had come. He remembered his first mission, how he had trembled, how his vision had turned blurry and how his hands had become sweaty. It wouldn’t be any different for Tharam he guessed._

_“Target in sight.”_

_“Is the field of fire clear?”_

_“It is.”_

_“Fire at will.”_

_There had been a long silence. He had already prepared to jump in. Then the shot came and afterwards the quiet voice of Tharam – fifteen years and a man grown._

_“Target eliminated.”_

_The warrior, he had teamed up with immediately afterwards, was still a boy, hidden beneath a warrior’s armour. Spirited, strong and fearless, but still a boy who hid behind a lowered helmet and pulled up shoulders. But he learnt that that was when Tharam was to be regarded with caution, when coiled tight Tharam sprung at the slightest provocation._

He watched the man in the green-blue armour and remembered the years as he had watched the boy grow into a man and fill out the armour and become the warrior that was now before him again.

“… She is my wife!”

His heart swelled and clenched at the same time. To hear that his _vod’ika_ had found a partner and that amidst these turbulent times flooded him with happiness and relief, even pride. But the realisation of what he had done, of endangering the happiness of his brother drowned him in ice-cold water.

He was torn out of his reminiscence by the loud yell. He closed his eyes at the pain of rejection in Tharam’s voice. The next thing he knew was being confronted with the man-turned-Gundark with only a few steps in between. His hands slowly lifted away from his blasters. In any other situation he would have gone for the man calling him coward, he had even opposed Paz, then, down in the covert on Nevarro.

But Tharam was right, it was his fault, and he would let Tharam do what he deemed necessary. His eyes moved over to Halarys who stood frozen like the others. What would the scenario be like? Would Tharam shoot to kill or to maim, would he have time to give Halarays his words of love for a last time or would this life’s flame get snuffed out within a second?

Once he had seen Tharam like this, beyond any reasoning. Once he had only been able to stand idly by as Tharam’s rage unfolded.

_“I don’t like that, Din! The coward is hiding out in this cantina.”_

_“I know, but it can’t be helped. This is the only time when he’s not bunkered in his fortress.”_

_“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind his guards. I know that he’s surrounded by less here than in his place. But there are too many bystanders, and we know how he works.”_

_In the end they had no other chance than to follow their target into the cantina. They were glad that it was a calm evening. Only a few regular customers and one or the other odd traveller. As soon as they entered some of the cleverer customers smelt the womp-rat and left quietly. Some others caught the tilt of Tharam’s helmet. But then there were those totally oblivious or bound by duty._

_They fanned out, used any cover to inch closer. Then Tharam bullied a drunkard in a booth to leave. That was the last thing he registered before the guards opened their fire. He got the first guard and downed his second. Tharam was doing his share, taking out as many guards as he himself._

_More than one slug glanced off his armour. One ripped off the lower part triangle of his cuirass and burnt through his flak-vest, leaving a furrow along his ribs, a slug to his pauldron pushed him off balance and he tumbled backwards over a booth._

_“Bastards! Down with your guns, or …”_

_“Let her go!”_

_“Down with your guns! Last warning!”_

_He scrambled back up. Their target had the waitress in a chokehold, a blaster pointing at her head._

_Tharam’s hands moved up into a surrendering position._

_“We yield. Let her go.”_

_The target retreated pulling his victim with him. His remaining guards rushed to ensure their retreat. Just another step and their target would be out of the door, then he saw the flicker in the target’s eyes. But before he could react, say or do anything, he pulled the trigger._

_“No.”_

_Tharam’s voice was a mere whisper. He recognized the shift in his posture. Tharam’s helmet lowered and his shoulders pulled up. A low growl turned to a roaring shout._

_“No! I’ll tear every limb from you, bastard!”_

_He could all but stumble after Tharam who stormed after the target with a cry of rage._

_The slugs hailed down on them, but it didn’t matter for Tharam, he stalked onwards. It didn’t matter that he was hit and went down on one knee, he shoved himself up again and proceeded. He heard him grunt in pain two more times. More guards fell, he made his shots count too, and then it was only their target that was left._

_“Who is the bastard now?_ Hu’tuun _!”_

_They should have got the warlord alive, he told him so, he yelled it at him. But Tharam was beyond caring or reasoning. He took the target apart, slug by slug, emptying it into the jerking body. And then continued with his fists until he had exhausted himself._

_With a groan Tharam fell sidewards off the bloody and still pulp of a former body. He felt punched into his chest as he watched his_ vod _fall. He tried to quench the rising panic at Tharam’s groan when he turned him over._

_“At least … I-I … took him … with me.”_

_He didn’t like how pained Tharam’s whisper sounded._

_“With you?”_

_He didn’t fully understand what Tharam meant, not until he saw the missing paint on the cuirass and the dark stain spreading beneath its lower edge. Tharam needed medical treatment – at once. When he heaved Tharam over his shoulder his_ vod’s _pitiful groan pulled at his nerves._

_“You’ll make it. I’ll get you somewhere safe.”_

_His hand wrapped around the wrist hanging over his opposite shoulder, while he grabbed the fabric of Tharam’s trousers with his other hand. His brows furrowed in worry at every sound his brisk walk elicited from his_ vod, _but concentrating on Tharam distracted him from how the pieces of green-blue Beskar bore between the unprotected parts between his shoulders. His steps widened with his hurried moves and they pulled more sounds from Tharam – sounds he didn’t like at all._

_“D-dank far-farrik. If y-you want to … to inherit my hel-helmet, you’ll have t-to clean … it f-first.”_

_“Did you just get sick in there?” For an answer he only got another wet cough which made him grip tighter onto Tharam._

_“Tharam?” The silence he met was worse that the sound he had heard before. He swallowed down his panic: “Just hang in there,_ vod _. I’ll get you to help.”_

“If he dares …”

He didn’t dare, he didn’t want to. One devastating decision and the therein resulting shot was enough for a day. Another shot, close at range and within such a small room. He didn’t want to think about it.

He only hoped that no one, really no one did move or do anything rash and unwise. But how should they know? No one knew the Tharam that was standing now in front of him and among them now. They only knew the regular, amiable Tharam who didn’t flinch from making others feel good, even at his own expanse.

But Paz voice did boom in the room and the tall Zabrak did speak up and move. For kriff’s sake, he moved and even touched Tharam. Everything in him tensed and he forgot to breathe. This couldn’t work, this could only end in disaster!

“ _Ad_ … _ad’ika_ …”

The soft but insistent rumble of the Zabrak’s voice took effect. He watched as a tremble ran through his _vod_. First softly, increasing with each of the Zabrak’s word, then a visible and constant tremor. The stupor in Tharam broke. The Zabrak was indeed able to reach behind the fog that clouded Tharam’s mind.

“ _B-bu-buir_.”

He bit back a gasp as the impossible happened. Tharam moved like a puppet, letting himself get guided back and the Zabrak was the puppeteer, steering him back to the woman on the cot – Tharam’s wife.

A small nod was all Halarys gave him, quietly he started to move towards her, his eyes never leaving the meanwhile sitting warrior. With small gestures she showed him what to do, helped him to get off his protective gear, and stripped his flight suit over his shoulders. He supressed a shiver as he lay back on the cot, his chest bared to those around him, including the warrior who had just threatened to take his life. It would be much easier now.

Both women bustled about him, checking him and his vitals, and running their scanners. They were preparing him for the procedure. All the while their covert’s healer, Tulata, investigated about the medical treatments he had received ever since leaving the covert on Nevarro. Idly he listened and the list didn’t seem to have an end. He scratched at the sticking pads on his chest, they felt irksome on his skin: Preferably, he would have done without them, especially as they linked him to the beeping machine displaying his heart rate.

“Are you ready?”

He gazed up his wife and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with his hard swallow. Sceptically he gazed at the tube ending in a needle. His heart rate spiked, and the confounded machine happily beeped its increased rhythm for everyone in the room to hear. Something only the healers had known about, his dislike for these pointy thingies. Now all the others could see and hear it, too.

“This is much larger than …”

Halarys gave him an apologetic grin and nodded: “I know.”

“I’ll never be ready for this. Just get done with it already.”

He knew that she would be careful as she talked him through it in a try to distract him. The burning sensation when the needled pierced his skin and went deeper to find his artery was not a new sensation to him. Still, he hated it with everything he had. And he hated how it made him, just as always, look and watch … he hated it!

His eyes trailed over to Tharam. Only barely he could make out the side of his T-visor. His _vod_ had turned himself away from him, not allowing him to make eye contact through their visors. Nothing indicated the least interest.

 _“_ Ori’vod _!_ Ori’vod _! Wait for me!”_

_“No, Tharam. You can’t play with us. Not this time. This time you can’t come with us. You are too small, you haven’t got your helmet, yet!”_

_He rushed after the others and the patter of small feet followed him. But the sound got more distant as did the voice calling for him. A sound of stumbling had him look back. The smaller boy was scrambling back up, his chubby short legs wobbling as he ran a dirty hand over the torn fabric of his trousers. They got more stained and at some point it even dawned on Tharam and he looked down at his hands._

_He knew what had happened on the rough, pebble-covered way. It had happened to him also. With a sigh he turned around fully and walked back towards the boy who had started to call him ‘big brother’. He could see the wet stripes on the dusty cheeks._

_Kneeling before Tharam he inspected his knees, taking the smaller hands in his, he gave them a look over too._

_“We need to get these cleaned. The_ baar’ur _always says that wounds have to be cleaned or there might cause an infection.”_

_Large hazel eyes stared at him and Tharam nodded, scrunching his nose and pulling up some snot. He just caught Tharam’s hand before he could pull it across his nose._

_On their way to the medic, Tharam’s gaze had been constantly and unwaveringly on him._

Now Tharam refused to look at him. An uncomfortable knot formed at the back of his throat at recalling more and more incidents where the younger boy and then the younger man had looked up at him … to him, even when he had outgrown him.

Halarys’ cool hand giving his arm a soft squeeze made him blink his way into the here and now.

“Calm down, love.”

Suppressing a shaking exhale, he gave her a quick nod. It helped that she talked to him. It kept his mind from straying back to memories which were suddenly turning painful. His exposed hand felt cold and when he moved it, he could feel the sting of the needle.

Distraction, he needed more distraction. But everyone was barely moving or talking. Halarys and Tulata were doing their thing and he didn’t want to distract her. Had the machine been beeping always that fast? He tried to not listen to it. He tried to occupy his mind with anything but the slightly fuzzy sensation in his head.

He turned his eyes to the Zabrak who still stood behind Tharam, a supporting hand on the shoulder of his _vod_. Yes, he still regarded Tharam as his brother, but he knew he had to earn this position in his brother’s eyes again. But how could he, when his _vod_ refused to look at him? Would he ever be able to make good for what he had done?

He lifted his head to find Paz. The heavy infantry was still holding the little bundle containing his kid. He hadn’t said anything on their flight to their new home, only given directions. Despite their quarrel in the sewers, he had helped him, covered his retreat on Nevarro, showed him that he still belonged. But now, nothing. He didn’t know what Paz thought of mess he once again had created.

He inhaled deeply to get rid of the fuzzy feeling in his mouth, or was it in his head? A taste of nausea crept up his throat and he breathed it down.

“Din? How are you feeling?” His wife’s voice drifted towards him between layers of fuzziness.

“I … like having been run over by a Mudhorn.” His tongue felt heavy and he pressed out the words between his pants. Something was not feeling right, he felt more and more lightheaded.

Somehow his heart felt like it wanted to win a pod-race. He needed to tell Halarys before the dark blotches which he saw became too much. He needed to … before everything faded … even more …

-*-*-*-

Privacy. Her brother asked her for privacy. Of course, she could understand his request. But there were two patients to keep under surveillance.

“I want to keep her here in the med-bay. But we could move Din. There are two options where he could have his privacy, too.”

The snort that Tharam gave didn’t let her hope for much. Especially with the way he tilted his helmet up at her. She knew she just had to give him time to think about it. She was already turning away when his voice stopped her.

“Not her quarters!”

“No, but that only leaves the room you have occupied.”

“Couldn’t care less. Only slept in there for a while.”

She gave him a quick nod and went over to the other woman, the healer, Din had come with. She made sure that Paz helped her to move the cot with the bounty hunter on it to the assigned quarters.

Din wasn’t alone, he was in good hands and his new quarters were just across the med-bay. The woman had also appreciated the privacy. She doubted that Din’s helmet would stay on much longer after the door had closed.

Just as Paz was about to leave the med-bay she tugged at his elbow. He bent to meet her as she rose to the tips of her toes, whispering lowly enough to be only heard by him: “He wants to talk to me. Well, I want to talk to him.”

Paz nodded and pulled her in to rest his helmet against hers.

“I haven’t seen it all either. But we have to work all through that. I get Dargak so that you can be alone with him.”

“ _Ni kar’tayl gar_ , Paz.”

She rested her helmet against his broad chest, glad that he was there with her, glad that he didn’t have to witness everything, as he had said. She knew that this evening she would need him close to be able to fall asleep.

“ _Ni ori’kar’tayl gar_. Go, your brother needs you.”

She hugged him tightly: “Remind me to give you my proper thanks later when we are alone.”

She tried to keep her grin from seeping into her words and ended up giggling at the way Paz tilted his head, indicating his interest.

“Consider me wiggling my eyebrows.”

She shushed him with a swat against his upper arm, just to squeeze it affectionately. Then she hurried back to her brother. Dargak looked up and gave her a nod. He had probably heard what had passed between her and Paz, because he left, closing the door behind him and cutting them off from the outside – there were alone.

If she had thought that her brother would remove his helmet immediately as soon as they were among themselves, she had to find out that she was wrong. He kept sitting motionless, like a statue, still clutching on to Vayra’s hand. Her eyes darted to the monitors, the readings promised hope.

“It looks much better. We don’t have to worry anymore.”

A tremble ran through her brother’s body, making his shoulder hunch forwards. She knew that sign, it made her close the distance between them with quick steps. Under her hands she could feel how his shoulders shook and heaved. The quiet sounds that escaped the helmet only caused a broken cracking noise in his vocoder.

She rounded him and knelt before him. Even then she couldn’t look into his T-visor. He denied her this view.

“Let me take it off.”

His decline drowned in a sob. And a shaking hand grabbed her wrist, as she placed a palm on the dented part of his helmet.

“ _Cyaryc_ _Kih’vod_. Let me see you.”

The hold on her wrist got only tighter as another tremble wrecked his body. He was letting loose, he didn’t hold back anymore. She could feel how he crumbled more and more. Between the sobs and the crackling of the vocoder his voice was barely to be made out. And her heart broke with the pained and dejected sound.

“I-I loved him …”

“Thar’ika. Let me take off your helmet. Please! Let me see you.”

He moved towards the edge of the stool and she let him lean forward, their helmets connected with a metallic sound. He leant so heavily against her that she had to brace herself in order to not lose her balance and topple backwards.

Finally, his grip on her wrist loosened and his hand fell back into his lap. Tenderly she reached up, scanning his body language, but he didn’t send any signals, he didn’t resist at all. Leaning back, she slowly lifted his helmet off and placed it on the floor. His forehead bumped into the crook of her neck and she had barely time to wrap her arms around him before he slid off the stool and onto his knees.

His free arm pressed her tightly against him, although he wouldn’t let go of Vayra’s hand within his other hand. But he clung to her as if she were his anchor. All she could do was hold him back as tight as possible. His body convulsed, shook and rattled. He wasn’t loud, he was drowning in the sobs he held back.

Massaging comforting circles into his back had helped when she had held him after their _buir’s_ funeral. It hurt her to see him like this again and she guessed that he was letting go of everything that had piled up within him. How much it was, she could only guess. There was only so much a man could take, no matter how strong he showed himself to the world around him. 

Only when his trap-like grip lessened she made them sit back on their haunches in order to look at him. But he wasn’t having any of it. He wasn’t ready to face her yet. Instead, he buried his forehead into the cowl under her chin. And when he finally started to speak it was a low and broken whisper, interrupted by hiccups and sniffles. So often interrupted by breaks in which he collected himself again to continue that more than once she thought that he had finished.

“I loved him … as a brother. … … He took the place of all the friends I lost … on … back then. … … He was my mentor. … He taught me to shoot, to fight. … What I know, … I know because he taught me. … … In everything I did, … I looked up to him, he ... …he took _buir's_ place in my heart ...”

She ran her hand through the mess of his hair, he had let it grow out beyond a comfortable-helmet length again.

“Thar’ika. I can only imagine how that must feel for you. But can you please tell me what actually happened? I’m still left to guessing from the evidence.”

With a sigh he settled back. His head hang so low that she couldn’t see his eyes and when she reached out to push the shock of fringe out of his face, he retreated. She did get it, he didn’t want her to see him in his current state.

Her brother had always been a good story-teller – lively and agitated – he had been able to entertain the whole covert, no matter their age. But how he related what had happened to them reminded her of an astromech. Detached – he was detaching himself to be able to tell her about the dune, the fall, the green thing, the healer and Dargak and his failed attempt at the vows.

“When I … when she was … And when I went up to them … I recognized D … him.”

“Din? You recognized Din?”

He simple nodded: “Him. … I wanted to …. I just wanted to … hurt him, make him suffer like he had … made me … us suffer … but Dargak and Paz intervened. … Had they not …. I would have …I wouldn’t have stopped.”

She noted how he avoided their hunter’s name and realized that he wanted the separation to extend. For the first time he looked up at her, eyes red and swollen and still overflowing. If her heart hadn’t already broken for him before, she wouldn’t have been able to save it at this sight. She cupped his scruffy cheeks and for a moment he closed his eyes. Under her fingers his muscles worked as his teeth grinded against each other.

“I wanted to kill him, Tula, I really did. And parts of me still do …”

“Thar’ika …”

She didn’t know if she should be shocked, angry or sad that it had come that far. Her interjection made him shortly look up at her, the golden spots in his hazel eyes on fire, before he lowered his gaze and his head again.

“I’m sorry, Tula, but it’s how I feel. … I-I can’t look at him and not … hate him.”

His whole upper body rose and sank with his deep breaths and exhales.

“Tharam, did he know?”

She knew she had found the sore point by the way he tensed up, by the way his shoulders pulled up. He even turned his head away from her, pulled out of her grasp. He had always done that when he hadn’t wanted to listen to reason, when he had retreated to his more stubborn self.

“Did Din know who his target is? Who Vayra is? Who she is to you? Did he even know that we are here, that we are involved?”

He remained silent and the small, jerking movement of negation told her that she wouldn’t get any answers. But she had planted the seed. He had something to mull over.

With a groan she pulled herself up again. Her knees hurt from kneeling for such a long time. She gave his shoulder a squeeze before she checked on Vayra again. She was pleased with the monitors’ readings.

“I will leave you two alone. She is doing fine, but if anything should change … just call me.”

“… Yeah, … I will.”

“I will have Paz bring you something to sleep on. Tomorrow we can move her to her quarters, so that you are both more comfortable.”

Before she left, she glanced back, but her brother hadn’t moved at all. She didn’t know if this was a good sign or not, but she would give him the time he needed. But maybe he also needed somebody else to talk to. Maybe if Paz talked to him, too. Not right now, but tomorrow, or in a few days.

“Tula?”

Already about to close the door she stopped immediately. His voice held a pleading quality she had rarely heard coming from his mouth.

“What is it, Thar’ika?”

“If … if Dargak is st-still out there, could you ask him to come in?”

“Of course. I will.”

She let the door slid close and turned. A huff swished through her vocoder. Paz was already standing there with an armful of bedding. With a fond smile she shook her helmet slightly. If their conversation hadn’t been overheard ., then Paz had been quick to guess and react. Bit by bit she took everything from his hands and loaded Dargak with it, leaving the task to move the matrass towards the med-bay door to Paz.

“He wants to see you, Dargak.”

-*-*-*-

“Me?”

He didn’t know what he should make of it. And while the healer was piling more and more pillows, blankets and such into his arms he couldn’t come to an answer. Had he been standing too close for the warrior’s comfort, not close enough? Had he done not enough for Vayra, was what he had made the healer do too much? He him breaking the stupor broken something else? His trust? All of a sudden, he felt the weight of how they differed as a crushing burden.

Paz had leaned the mattress against the wall next to the door and he just kept standing in front of the door, feeling more awkward than on the worst days during his adolescence.

“Ready?”

He looked over towards the heavy infantry: “Aren’t you …”

“Nope. It’s not me, he asked for.”

He pulled his upper lip into a silent snarl: “Don’t be so gleeful.”

And for an answer he only heard Paz’s chuckle: “Be ready.”

He stepped into the med-bay, dropped his armload and reached to retrieve the mattress which Paz handed him through the door. After it had slid shut, he stood still, waiting just next to it. He was only too aware of the helmetless state of Tharam. He didn’t know how to proceed. Even when only among themselves the younger man had never shown him his face. He had shown Tulata his face, it was obviously no problem among siblings. And he had shown Vayra his face, but only as she was about to die. And then of course when they had spoken their vows. But did this include him as Vayra’s father? He wasn’t sure and with all the turmoil that hovered in the room, he didn’t want to come to any wrong conclusions.

His eyes trailed over to his daughter. The monitors sounded with a quiet and constant noise, her chest rose and fell with her even breathing. He was glad that she was resting, sleeping even. This couldn’t be said of Tharam. His eyes fell onto Tharam’s hand. His thumb rubbed unerringly circles on the back of her hand and by the way the young man sat he assumed that he used his other hand to bury his face in.

He kept his voice quiet, fearing that he might startle the other man after the long time of silence. Maybe he had even forgotten that someone else was in the room with them. Without clearing his throat his voice was hoarse and husky.

“Tharam? You … What can I do for you?”

It was strange to hear, without any distortion of the vocoder, how the harsh flow of air left Tharam’s body through his nose. As he waited his ears seemed to concentrate on this sound only, completely ignoring the machines in the room. And even these moved to the background of his consciousness.

_“You have to be quiet, Thar. Very. Quiet.”_

_“I am quiet, Din.”_

_“Ssshhh.”_

_~~~_

_He shot her_

_~~~_

_“What are these Din?”_

_“Ammunition and detonators. Now! SSSHHH.”_

_~~~_

_Djarin shot her._

_~~~_

_“Where are we going Din. I’m getting tired.”_

_“Stop complaining. You wanted to come with us.”_

_“What are detonators, Din?”_

_“Shhh!_

_~~~_

_He killed her._

_~~~_

_“Makers! Din! Why did you have to bring the baby with you?”_

_“I’m no baby. I’m six already!”_

_“’Tis not my fault, Paz. He followed me. And if I hadn’t let him come along, he would have told someone.”_

_“Makers! You always burden yourself with him, Din!”_

_“What’s a bur-den, Din?”_

_~~~_

_Almost killed her._

_~~~_

_“There. This is the perfect place. The_ verde _shouldn’t find us here. Ok. Let’s see what you have got …”_

_“Din, where’s Tharam?”_

_“He’s just been behind me next to the bag with the det … SHIT!”_

_“Thar? What are you doing? Thar, no! They are no toys! … No, don’t press it! …NO! ... Throw it, Thar! Throw it! … Come here! Come with me, you little idiot! … Run! Everyone, run!”_

_~~~_

_Djarin shot her. He killed her. Almost killed her. He shot her. He shot her._

He sucked in a harsh breath and like a drunken Wampa shook his head. He could feel the shockwave of the detonation and it left him breathless. Even more suffocating were the emotions that crushed down on him like the waves on Manaan in winter. There was again the crushing feeling of desolation and betrayal.

_He shot her. Almost killed her._

And the simmering, a quivering between rage and hate which he wanted to keep away from. This form of hate had been his master and doctrine before he could renounce from it. Like someone drowning he drew a rasping breath against the choking sensation he felt.

“Tharam, please ...”

_He shot her. He had been my brother. He shot her._

He didn’t how to phrase it. He couldn’t simply ask the warrior to stop feeling. But each wave sent him reeling and was painful enough to drive him to his knees.

_He had been my brother. I had looked up to him. We had …_

“ _Ad_! _Gedet’ye_!”

It was getting too much. Groaning he pressed his palms against his temples and bent over, he gave in and sank down onto his knees. The sensation of bile rising up his throat made him swallow desperately. He didn’t want to be sick right here on the floor of the med-bay.

All at once the tormenting sensation was gone. The sound of stool legs scratching on the floor and the sensation of hands closing like traps around his forearms made him look up. He blinked once, twice, and immediately lowered his head and eyes again.

He didn’t want to presume, even though the warrior had asked for his presence. He wasn’t sure that Tharam was even aware that he wasn’t wearing his helmet. He needed Tharam to somehow vocalise his consent. But Tharam obviously knew about his state.

“Dar … _buir_. It’s … It’s okay.”

There was a slight tug at his arms and he could hear the underlying tone – a plea – and a sensation of softness that let him come to a rest.

“So, I’m family and allowed to see?”

“Haven’t you already? Back … at the beach?”

He wondered for a moment. Had he seen anything of Tharam for real? He had been so beside himself, so focused on Vayra that he couldn’t really tell, couldn’t recall anything besides a shock of dark brown hair. And that because of its length it had been enough to block his view onto Tharam’s face.

“Would you take offence if I told you that I had other preferences?”

Slowly gazing up and looking at the warrior in front of him, he shook his head. To his surprise there was a snort of amusement that answered his question and he had to grin. He felt the tension leave him. Although the mirth was short-lived and replaced by some curiosity on Tharam’s behalf, it was better than the oppressive feeling that he had felt before.

“Offen …?!? No, of course not. I-I was just wondering.”

Quietly and unhurried he let his eyes roam. Tharam had a complacent face, a mixture of soft boyishness and rough rakishness. Surmising the rich baritone, he had guessed that Tharam would be and look – he searched for a word and settled for a simple one – older. But the younger man had been crying, his eyes reddened and even puffy. It might not have been the best first impression the warrior could have given him. But it was an honest one and therefore he treasured it even more.

With their wet glance Tharam’s hazel eyes stood out. He found that he was captivated by them. A core of molten gold was surrounded by the darkest green he had ever seen. He realized that he must have stared too long because Tharam’s eyes widened and in a display of insecurity they started to flicker between his eyes. The younger man tried to cover himself by directing the attention away from him.

“Are you ok? I mean … I heard you … sounded like you are in pain ... Are you hurt? I mean … why are you here on the ground? Is everything ok?”

“Yes. No worries. I’m fine. I just got overloaded.”

Tharam’s physiognomy morphed into confusion. He was doing it subconsciously and without filter, just as if he were still wearing his helmet, expressing his unspoken question with a reaction of his body, especially his head. He had to smile when the young man’s head tilted slightly to the side.

“Overloaded?”

Finally, Tharam worded his question, and he had hoped that he wouldn’t. Since he had used the pale-eyed healer it had gotten clearer, no, worse again. Ever since their encounter with Evan, no, Luke on Myrkr it had gotten easier for him to pick up on others, it had gotten harder to shut them out. He hadn’t taken it too serious in the beginning, hoping that the time since his training had been too long, but now he knew that he definitely needed to pick up a routine of meditation again.

He knew that Vayra had stuck to what the Jedi had taught her, maybe she should teach him also. He knew that, with the ways he had been taught on Korriban, his way would lead back to darkness and nightmares, with no way to control his emotions.

But what he didn’t know was how to explain Tharam what he was able to do. How to explain the link to the people he cared about. A link which allowed him to or forced him to feel them if they were passionate enough.

“I can feel you … your pain, your turmoil, your loss … your love. It hit me like …”

“Hit you like … like one of Paz’s punches?”

“Uhm … yeah. Like one of them.”

“And you felt my …” The younger man couldn’t hold his gaze anymore and turned his head to look back at the cot with Vayra on it. A slight red colour crept from his neck into his cheeks. “… I’m sorry that you had to. … I just can’t forget what happened … what he did … It’s difficult.

He watched Tharam intensely, his struggle for words and he felt his struggle to keep himself under control. The visual effects were plain. His jaws ticked as his teeth worked, his Adam’s apple jumped, and his brows furrowed, giving the young man a stern look. The emotional effects make him cringe back again.

“You remember what I said back in the dune? That the only important thing is that Vayra lives?”

Tharam’s confirmation was very quiet, almost inaudible and he felt his reluctance to give it at all. Being overstrained with emotions like that was nothing the young man had to deal with before. He addressed him, to get his attention, but Tharam refused to look at him again.

“Tharam … … son … _ad’ika_.”

The sharp inhale told him that he had found Tharam’s weak point.

“I know this is quite a lot right now. Rest, get some sleep. If you want to, we can talk. When everyone is up again, we can find way to work this out. We could … like on Ossus, we could spar. The two of us, or if you prefer, I can convince Paz.”

“There’s only one who I’d like to drive their teeth through their _shebs_. Don’t think you convince him. Don’t think you can do that.”

He suppressed a snort, but at least it made Tharam look back at him and looked forlorn.

It was just an impulse which he followed when he reached up and around Tharam’s neck and pulled him closer, making their foreheads meet.

“Anything, son. I’ll do anything for you and my daughter.”

There was resistance as Tharam froze up. It made him wonder if he had overstepped, it made him wonder about the last time the young man had felt affection of someone else besides his sister’s and what he shared with Vayra. Finally, Tharam let go of the breath he had held and closed his eyes, he relaxed. Close up sulphurous fire met molten gold as Tharam met his gaze again.

He knew that it was time that the warrior was getting used to not only having his sister and his wife. There were more to take into account. Besides himself there was also his sister’s husband, Paz. He didn’t know if the men would ever really see each other as he was able to see Tharam. But he hoped, for the sake of both men.

“But Tharam, to be honest, I don’t see you in a sparing with the other _beroya_. At least, not a fair one. He won’t fight you but let you punish him. And that is not what you really want.”

Tharam was mulling over his words until he finally pulled back to look him straight in the eyes: “Let me punish him?”

Tharam was too caught up in his feelings to see what he had seen. So, he told him what he had been able to hear and watch, the hunter’s immediate willingness to help as he had sent his healer to Vayra, how he had put his own qualms aside to assist with the transfusion. He kept from elaborating on the panic that had waved off the hunter when it came to needles.

“You want to punish him for shooting Vayra, but I don’t think that he knew who he was hunting and when he realised that it was a Mando’ad it was already too late. I have to admit that I was too caught up in my own rage when I attacked him, or I might have felt him sooner.”

“Felt? You have felt him, too? What … what did you feel?”

He inhaled deeply and backtracked with closed eyes: “Panic, remorse, sorrow … and recognition … something along that line. There was no malice, no hate. Tharam, he is a hunter, and I take it that he is good at what he does. You have been a bounty hunter, too. You know the policy. Him following these rules, just as you have, does that make him a different person to the one you have known before, trusted, hunted with, and loved as your brother?”

“I know … the rules of the guild. Still. I can’t … yet.”

“You don’t need. Not yet. But with time. Until then, find some rest. Let me help you with the bedding.”

He eyed Tharam. The traces of fatigue were there. If he could get his body to rest, the younger man’s mind could recuperate, too. They worked in silence as they set up the makeshift bed right next to the med-cot. Leaving a small lamp burning he informed Tharam that he would stay in Vayra’s quarters.

-*-*-*-

She hadn’t had much time to inspect the med-bay, but the equipment she had seen was impressive for a ship. The quarter that had been given to them was also notable, not a makeshift and made for the bare minimum of sustaining life on board, like on the Razor Crest. This ship was made to really lead a life on it and she felt a wave of envy rise.

She could only guess whose quarter it had been before, but she guessed that it hadn’t had a regular occupant. Nothing hinted at a personal touch. It was not that the room was uncomfortable with its wardrobe, chest of drawers, table and chairs and a rather large bed but it lacked a feeling of being lived in.

Looking around her eyes fell on the door’s locking system. Activating it gave them the privacy they needed and made it possible for her to remove Din’s helmet. Although Din was resting comfortably on the cot, being without his helmet gave her better access and made it even more comfortable for him.

The scanner’s results were assuring. The rhythmic beat of his heart was steady, and his deep breathing told her that he wouldn’t wake up for some time, if she kept quiet. Despite the alarming situation only moments ago, she was glad that he could find some rest now.

The cot hat been positioned with easy reach to the bed so that she could get some rest too. Besides that, the bed was wide enough to place their little bean on it without him getting endangered of rolling off by accident. Although she suspected that no real harm would come to him from it, he would know how to prevent that, did she place him between the wall and herself. She watched him for a few minutes. The poor little baby was still out cold. She could only imagine what it taken out of him to heal the Mandalorian woman.

She settled on the bed but was up the same instant she heard a mumble coming from Din. Sitting askew on his cot, she watched as his head lolled towards her and his eyes fluttered open. With a soothing gesture she ran her hand over his cheek.

“My love. How are you feeling?”

His voice was rough, and he sounded groggy: “What …? Where …?”

“We are still on the ship. They gave us a quarter so that you can rest.”

He tried to struggle to a sitting position, but it was easy for her to push him down on his back again.

“Just keep lying. We are safe. You need the rest after the transfusion. You will still feel light-headed and kind of weak. But that will subside soon. You did well, my love.”

“Well?” His chuckle was dark and self-conscious: “I did well … by passing out?”

She bit her lip to keep herself from laughing, it would not have been fair: “We both know that this was highly likely to be the outcome of the procedure. And still, you didn’t say no, and I love you for that … among other things … many other things.”

“And what things would that be?”

This time she couldn’t bite back her laugh. His grin, which was slightly mischievous, and the wriggling of his eyebrows were too great of a trigger and she let herself easily be pulled down into his embrace. But they didn’t stay there too long. She gladly helped him out of his armour and watched as he nestled into the bed, careful not to disturb their little and already sleeping little _ad’ika_. The bed was broader and curling around their little bean in the middle, it had such a tranquil quality that they both succumbed easily to sleep.

-*-*-*-

Seeing the unruly shock of dark brown hair was enough for him to quickly draw back, simply giving the mattress a push so that Dargak could pull it further into the med-bay. He felt uncomfortable knowing that Dargak would be so close to Tharam.

He felt the well-known coping mechanism starting. His anger was taking over. What did Tharam think asking for the Zabrak although he wasn’t wearing his helmet. Wasn’t it enough that there was already the woman?

He tried to calm himself, he had to remind himself that she was the woman that Tharam courted. He had to correct himself – had courted – Tharam had referred to her has his wife. He wanted her to be a part of his life. But her father? He wished for the Armourer’s presence. Would she say – _This is the way_ – would she approve? It would be much easier to hand over the decision to her. It wasn’t his place to deny Tharam his wish. But somehow his very inner self bristled when he saw Tulata leave and close the door behind her.

He kept his voice low, he didn’t want to be heard by anyone else: “He isn’t covering his face.”

“No, Paz. He his among his family.”

A quick, questioning tilt of helmet was enough to make Tulata continue: “Obviously they have said their vows already.”

“But when?”

He was slightly alarmed. Tharam had had so many questions about wooing, he had wanted to take his time to do it right, he had had plans. And he had asked him to look out for a suitable courting offer. For kriffing’s sake, he had even given him two ignots of Beskar for the unlikely chance that they stumbled across another covert with an armourer. Tharam’s instructions for the beskad had been precise, he had given him even a sketch of what they should look like. Two identical short swords with a corrugated handle, its indented parts inlayed with a reddish wood. The long-drawn tips slightly curved, one half of the cross guard reaching thorn-like over the back of the blade whereas the other half curved downwards over the handle.

When Tulata told him what she had learnt from Tharam, he saw it again. He remembered the way Dargak had positioned himself between them, how he had broken the line of sight. He must have overheard what they had said and given them whatever privacy had been possible. And then the other set of gears started grinding in his head.

He started pointing between them and the med-bay: “So … that means … if they have said the vows … that means … we are …”

“… one family.”

“Haran! … if Tharam … then Dargak will expect me … us also …”

“Calm down, Paz. I don’t think that Dargak expects anything. Let everyone get back on their feet and then we will see. Okay?”

Tulata’s words calmed him down somewhat, but the feeling of unrest lingered. His world was changing at a pace that seemed to be too fast for him.

“Do you mind me staying on board for tonight. I would like to stay close, just in case.”

He had expected something like that and assured her that he would be fine with it. Again, he went to get the appropriate bedding, this time from their private cavern. A slight feeling of nostalgia rose in him as he prepared the same compartment, they had already occupied on the flight to Garos. Gazing down on the mattress he smiled at the fond memories and parts of his body seemed to have memorized too.

When he had everything prepared, he wondered where Tulata was. She had said that she would just step into the kitchen and prepare something small. Could this really take longer than it had taken him to prepare their bed for that night? Also on their way to Garos he had been waiting for her in anticipation. He had to pace around to not let these memories get the better of him.

Finally, he heard some well-known footsteps and when the door opened it his wife was with a tray loaded with food and drinks. He locked the door behind her and after they had arranged their improvised table with the help of some left-over crates he sat down.

Nothing had changed since the first time they had watched each other taking their helmets of. His smile was broad on that first day next to the volcano lake and still that evening his eyes trailed reverently over his wife’s face – like every time when she bared herself to him.

The food could wait, he thought to himself as he leant in to kiss her. Her lips were warm and soft, something he could never get enough of. How often had they fallen asleep while languidly peppering the other with small kisses and tiny pecks? He hummed contently. Soft and chaste kisses became playful nibbles. All he wanted was to taste her lips – yet, his stomach thought differently and sounded its protests.

An apologetic grin spread on his face and he didn’t resist when Tutala urged him to sit down, handing him a plate with the prepare food.

“You know, we can continue that later. Of what use would you be to me if you were constantly distracted with your tumtum growling at me.”

His jaws locked and he stopped midway of biting into the sandwich she had made: “Did you just say tumtum?”

She looked up at him, with a hint of confusion. But it quickly merged into a mischievous grin: “I like your tumtum. Want me to show you how much?”

He couldn’t help the smile as he admired his wife’s coy look. He nodded and while his teeth were digging into his lower lip images of what that could imply made him try to find a more comfortable position as his flight suit had suddenly become much too tight in certain places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ade: children   
> Gar beroya? Ruusaanyc: Your bounty hunter? Trustworthy/Reliable?  
> vod: brother; comrade, mate  
> riduur: spouse, wife, husband  
> hut’uun: coward, worst possible insult  
> ad … ad’ika: Child / Son … little one (in this case: term of endearment)  
> buir: parent; father, mother  
> vod: brother; comrade, mate  
> Elek. Ner riduur: Yes. My wife.  
> kih’vod: little brother, younger comrade  
> vod'ika: younger comrade  
> ori’vod: big sister, older sibling  
> baar’ur: medic, healer  
> Ni kar’tayl gar: I love you  
> Ni ori’kar’tayl gar: I love your more.  
> verde: warriors  
> Shebs: buttocks, ass  
> beroya: bounty hunter  
> haran: hell (curse); destruction  
> Gedet’ye: Please

**Author's Note:**

> Ne’tra verd! K’ulur! Morut'yc kaysh!”: Black warrior. Be careful. Safe her  
> Alor: leader  
> Udesii: wait, stop  
> Aruetii: traitor  
> Vod: mate, comrade  
> Luubid: enough


End file.
